Monsters of Our Own
by sammie28
Summary: "To fight monsters, we created monsters of our own." Pacific Rim AU - prequel
1. Chapter 1

**Monsters of Our Own**  
by Sammie

Disclaimer: "Agents of SHIELD" is not mine. Neither is "Pacific Rim." Some lines/scenes are nods to "PacRim"; some are re-constituted scenes from "SHIELD". "Duffle" is a name from _Horse and His Boy_; use of the term "Gemini" for pilots is my own.

Summary: "To fight monsters, we created monsters of our own." Pacific Rim AU - prequel. LEANS WARD/SIMMONS.

A/N:  
I have favorite movies, and then I have favorite popcorn movies. The latter are generally action movies with things blowing up. (Hey, I AM American.) "Twister." "Pacific Rim." ("Over the Hedge"!) So, in honor of "Pacific Rim"'s release last year on July 12 and the news that we're getting some kind of sequel, my "Agents of SHIELD"/"Pacific Rim" AU. (Quote from summary and quotes in BOLD straight from film and promotional materials)

This is standalone and _hopefully_ does not require a knowledge of the film (though it would help). It's a prequel (those are always tricky, right, George Lucas?). I have tried to stick to rather tightly constructed "PacRim" novelization and film timeline: all human personnel, named jaegers, and place names come from "PacRim". Much thanks to the awesome "PacRim" wiki.

To catch up with the film:  
Big monsters invade Earth (AD 2013). Humans build big robots to kill said monsters; tide slowly turns in humans' favor (AD 2015-16). By the time the film happens, however, it's ten years later, and the humans' jaeger program is now a resistance force (AD 2024-2025). www-DOT-moviespoiler-DOT-com-SLASH-Spoilers-SLASH-pacificrim-DOT-html (remove all dashes and DOTS and SLASHES, replace last two with appropriate marks).

* * *

**KAIJU (kaiju, Japanese): Giant Beast.  
JAEGER (ya' gar, German): Hunter.**

**RALEIGH BECKET:  
When I was a kid, whenever I'd feel small or lonely, I'd look up at the stars. Wondered if there was life up there. Turns out I was looking in the wrong direction. When alien life entered our world, it was from deep beneath the Pacific Ocean. A fissure between two tectonic plates. A portal between dimensions. The Breach. I was fifteen when the first Kaiju made land in San Francisco. **

**By the time tanks, jets, and missiles took it down, six days and thirty-five miles later, three cities were destroyed. Tens of thousands of lives were lost. We mourned our dead, memorialized the attack, and moved on. And then, only six months later, the second attack hit Manila. **

**Then the third one hit Cabo. And then the fourth. And then we learned this was not gonna stop. This was just the beginning. We needed a new weapon. The world came together, pooling its resources and throwing aside old rivalries for the sake of the greater good. To fight monsters, we created monsters of our own. The Jaeger program was born.**

* * *

FEBRUARY 2016

The tall, slim figure adjusted his position in the helicopter seat and tugged his large knapsack back towards him. His chiseled features, sharp in the dim light of the helicopter, made his face seem cold, even cruel. The helicopter carried several others, but there was no other sound besides the beat of the helicopter blades. Nobody spoke - to him, about him, around him.

His jacket logo said he was a Pan-Pacific Defense Corps ranger. The fact that there was no jaeger logo on the jacket indicated that he had not been assigned to pilot one of the massive battle robots; he might as well have been a tractor-trailer cab without a trailer attached. In addition, the fact that nobody traveled with him indicated even worse - he had no co-pilot. As a jaeger ranger, no co-pilot meant he might as well be missing an arm and a leg - or half a brain.

Grant Ward had washed out of piloting before ever stepping into a jaeger.

The whole jaeger academy had not produced one other pilot who was mentally compatible - at least compatible enough to pass the threshhold jaeger scientist Caitlin Lightcap had designated as the minimal level of compatibility in order to "drift". To operate the huge robots, each pilot supplied half of the neural power needed - or, as they called it, shared the neural load. But sharing a neural load meant finding a partner with whom one was comfortable: one who thought and behaved similarly enough, could handle bad memories, deal with his copilot's secrets. Many pilot pairs were family by blood or by marriage; some were friends from childhood. Those who lost drift partners often took months to recover.

Ward had not found his partner. They assumed he would, but nobody was found who was suitable. He'd spent the required months at the Kodiak Island facility, training in everything and receiving the highest marks for pilot training - and then spent fruitless months waiting as pilots who performed worse than he in every respect found their co-pilot match and moved on to more training.

He'd been sent to Hong Kong as a last ditch effort, the PPDC unwilling to let him go without trying to find him a co-pilot. There they'd searched among all the APPLICANTS from the Eastern Hemisphere - people who had applied but might not even get into the PPDC, might not even get sent to Kodiak for training. Nobody was found. Stacker Pentecost, in frustration, had put him on a plane out of the Hong Kong-based headquarters and sent him across the Pacific.

He was headed to $%^ Lima. Lima, on the Pacific rim, but far from the Breach. Lima, which didn't even have the underground, all-concrete shatterdome Hong Kong did, because the UN wouldn't approve construction yet. All Lima had, so the rumor went, was an empty jaeger holding bay, filled with technicians.

Well, that and a few candidates who had gone there for screening before being sent to the jaeger academy. Why Pentecost thought he could find a pilot there was beyond Ward; it was like looking for an opera singer among people trying out for American Idol. If no compatible co-pilot could be found in the PPDC jaeger academy, why would any be found among those trying out?

Grant Ward worked alone. That was the way he liked it; that was the way he operated best. SHIELD had known it and accommodated him. The PPDC would not.

Rather, he amended with reluctant grace, the PPDC could not. The monstrous jaegers were too heavy and too complex to allow one pilot to operate without neural overload. He was not so arrogant as to believe that he was stronger than either of the test pilots, who had each suffered seizures when attempting to pilot a jaeger alone.

Still.

He looked out the window to the helipad on which they would land. As he scanned across the long expanse of the building, his eyes fell upon a tiny figure, sitting high up on the roof of the structure, wearing dark-colored rainboots and a dark-colored raincoat. She sat with a comfortably straight back. A large, royal blue umbrella hid her face.

He stared at her longer than was polite, and almost as if sensing he was watching, she turned to look up at the helicopter. Neither were close enough to see the other for real.

The spell was broken when the pilot announced their arrival. The helicopter landed with a small bump, and the door opened. Its pilot waved off her passengers, and the previously silent fellow travelers streamed off with what was obvious relief at finally hitting real land.

He waited until they had all gone, then shouldered his knapsack. Everything he had was in that knapsack; it was his life for the last few decades. He had no personal items; the hard ground he'd slept on or the fancy hotel rooms for posh missions were all the same to him - just living quarters.

He stepped out, straightening as he exited. He looked around, dimly registering the different people scurrying across the wet helipad. It was raining.

He stepped down, and two figures came towards him, carrying the same bright blue umbrellas he'd seen before. The taller one (but not taller by much) he recognized easily: Marshal Philip Coulson, head of the entire PPDC. Why he'd agreed to headline this podunk operation in Lima was beyond Ward. Beside him was a young woman he didn't recognize, dressed in a raincoat and rain boots.

"Grant Ward," Coulson greeted with a small smile and an extended hand. "Welcome to Lima." He waved to the woman standing beside him. "This is Skye. Skye, Ranger Grant Ward."

The woman stuck out her hand with an appraising look. "I thought he'd look different," she said to Coulson with an amused grin.

Ward, shaking her hand, just gave her a look.

"This way."

* * *

"Hong Kong has their Shatterdome," Coulson was explaining as he led the man through the structure. "We are trying to convince everybody that, in the very least, we will need a shatterdome at every cardinal direction point, with all that Hong Kong has - underground, steel and concrete, huge hangar bays. We hope that Lima will be the next site approved."

He pointed upwards to four half-constructed jaegers. "These are our first Mark-2s."

Aha. Ward looked up towards the towering, human-like robots. That had been a fairly well-kept secret, even from the regular PPDC pilots in Hong Kong. For all the world's current jaeger mania, construction of the newest set of robots would need to be kept quiet, otherwise they would have had curiosity seekers attempting to come in. No wonder the building looked so non-descript from the outside.

It would also explain why Coulson was here, and not overseeing Hong Kong or the Kodiak Island jaeger academy.

Coulson looked with fond pride at the machines. "For one, they'll have shielding from nuclear reactors, unlike the Mark-1s. We've also decided to stick with the general format of putting the pilots' cockpit-_cum_-control center in the head, rather than in the chest." He waved at the first robot, whose conn-pod was a few feet above its body, making the jaeger look headless. "The only exception to that rule will be the Russian Mark-2," Coulson replied, pointing to the last jaeger in the row. "They still want their conn-pod in the chest, like with Cherno Alpha."

Which left the conn-pods without escape mechanisms, Ward added silently. Russian jaeger pilots fought to win - or they died.

"That third one there is from Panama. The second is from Peru." He then waved to the jaeger whose cockpit was being refitted onto the body. "That's our first Mark-2, there - a Chilean jaeger. She's almost done. The Peruvians are a little irritated that we're here in Lima and their jaeger schedule is behind Chile's." Coulson gave a bemused chuckle as Skye grinned.

Grant did not share their amusement.

"Why is the factory here and not on the PPDC proving grounds on Kodiak?" he asked.

"Two reasons. First is logistics: some of the Mark-1s had a little trouble adjusting to the more tropical weather. Fortunately, only Romeo Blue and Tango Tasmania and the prototype Brawler Yukon were made up north. We figure that having a factory down here will at least help the construction teams anticipate potential problems as they live through the weather down here."

Coulson sighed, then. "Second is simply politics," he said with a tone that said he didn't like the whole thing. "PPDC jaeger academy is in the northern hemisphere, so we're here in the south." He gave Ward a look which demonstrated how irritated he was with the whole thing.

Politics. Ward snorted. It wouldn't be the first time politicians had interfered with the soldiers of a war. It wouldn't be the last, either.

As they walked through the large, enclosed factory structure, there was suddenly a bark, and an overeager Corgi came tearing across the floor towards Skye, who bent down to hug the bouncy animal. The Corgi sensed the stranger and came over to sniff at Ward's shoes.

"Don't worry," Skye assured him. "Duffle loves everybody."

The Corgi growled and bared his teeth at Ward.

"OK, maybe not everybody."

He gave her a look, then turned to Coulson. "What's to prevent the kaiju from attacking the facility here, destroy the Jaegers before they are operational?"

"The original proposal asked for Tacit Ronin to be stationed here in case, but she will remain at the Hong Kong Shatterdome. Tango Tasmania has been assigned as protection for now, with aid from Hong Kong." Coulson waved towards the Mark-1, being monitored by tech teams.

Ward frowned. He had heard that Tango Tasmania had had some difficulty keeping pilots, with pairs cycling out of the jaeger. And the fact that Tango Tasmania had been built up north and was down south defending a not-yet built shatterdome... Quite frankly, Tango Tasmania had gotten a reputation as a bit of a red-headed stepchild among the Mark-1s. "Who pilots her?" he asked suspiciously.

"You let me worry about that," Coulson replied mildly. "And until Lima Shatterdome gets off the ground, we don't have to worry about defense. Hong Kong will cover us."

"If that's the case," Ward replied sourly, "why am I here?"

Coulson looked at him with mild amusement, then nodded to Skye.

"We have the largest database of pilot profiles," she replied. "They're all computerized. We're looking to upload them, but we can't do so until we can be assured of privacy regulations, so everything here is not connected to the Internet. I've been cataloguing them all."

"You can't match pilots by computer simulation," Ward replied sharply.

"We've been using questionnaires and Xbox games," Skye retorted. "I believe this is a step up."

"Pentecost is working on other methods," Coulson replied mildly, referring to the celebrated Coyote Tango jaeger pilot. "But you've tried all the in-person drift compatibility tests, and none worked. We've got a few applicants we're trying out here before we pass the good ones to Kodiak. We also have the largest set of computer-simulated compatibility tests. So that's why Stacker sent you here."

At that moment, there was the thud of rubber boots on the hard concrete floor, and all three turned to see a Chinese woman approach, file in hand. She had on a shoulder harness, one athletes often wore for injured shoulders. She did not stop to greet them, just turned to Coulson and handed him a file with her good hand. "Reports on the Mark-2s. And the other one you wanted."

"Thank you." As he flipped it open to read, she walked away.

Ward frowned. "Is that - "

"She's just here to aid me," Coulson replied mildly, looking over the report.

"Melinda May," Ward said suspiciously. "The most decorated female ranger pilot to date is just here to assist you."

Coulson gave him an amused look. "Is that a problem?"

"What game are you playing here, sir?" Ward's tone was suspicious, sharp.

"No game," the man replied, as calmly as before his character was attacked. "Skye here will be guiding you through the candidate process."

* * *

Skye walked him down the hallway, showing him his room. "Yours. Bathroom down that way; men's on the right, women's on the left. Do you want to drop off your stuff and take a break, or should we get started on the tour of the personnel part of the facility?"

Grant shrugged and threw his bag onto the bed. It was spartan, the room: a bed, a desk, two shelves above the desk. He wouldn't be staying long, anyhow, he thought. Coulson seemed the type to love giving second chances, but an incompatible ranger was an incompatible ranger. He'd be tossed out of Lima just as fast as he had out of Hong Kong. "Start the tour."

Skye shrugged. "OK." She waited for him to lock the door, then headed down the hall and out of the dorms to the rest of the living quarters. "Stairwell. Heads down to the mess hall. Large gym down there, too - machines of all sorts, boxing ring, all of it. We'll take the back stairs down to see those."

She pointed to a large hallway and door. "Tunnel. Leads into the city. That's how our technicians and mechanics get in and out, and how you will, as well, now that you're here."

"Tunnel?"

"We have three, with one operational; the other two are for back-ups. Built by three different architects, none of whom know who the others are. They open into the city and are used only rarely, when we want to get into the city without being seen - or for escape in case of a kaiju attack. They're also monitored so that we know if anybody attempts to come into the building."

"Everybody eats and sleeps here?"

"Yup. Just like Hong Kong."

They paused outside a large room, Skye pushing aside the raincoat hanging on a hall tree by the door and kicking the rainboots farther from the doorway. "Medical. Plus some experiments when she gets around to it."

"Medical?"

"Right now, she looks after mostly technicians who get hurt building the jaegers. Her speciality was neurochemistry, so she's occasionally consulted on a few drift tests." Skye did not elaborate on the 'her'.

Grant looked in. A brunette in a white coat and a clipboard was attending to a technician, who seemed to have burn marks. They were talking in earnest, and then the technician smiled and thanked the doctor, who gave a small smile back.

He turned and strode to catch up with Skye.

* * *

The first pilot candidate was a tall black American with a punishing grip but an easygoing personality and cheerful, friendly laugh. Mike Peterson was nice enough, Grant supposed. And strong enough that he'd most likely be passed and sent on to the PPDC jaeger academy on Kodiak Island.

Coulson shook his head. May looked inscrutable. Skye made a gagging motion.

The second was one of Coulson's students, Akela Amador. A hard fighter, Grant thought, and very calm. She would be good in a conn-pod as a co-pilot.

Coulson looked leery. May looked inscrutable. Skye made a face.

The third was an older pilot. His drift partner had been killed, and he was actually on his way back to the States to rest for a bit and do the interview circuit to drum up support for the PPDC. He had gotten diverted to Lima. Felix Blake was all right. He was sharp, by the book.

Coulson sighed. May looked inscrutable. Skye rolled her eyes.

Antoine Triplett was, perhaps, the most compatible he had seen so far. He could tolerate the easy-going Dominican-American, and the man apparently had been a SHIELD specialist at some point, so they seemed to have some similarity in training and fighting methods. Like Peterson, Ward had no doubt he'd be sent on to the academy from here.

Coulson wasn't sold. May looked inscrutable. Skye made a check on her chart.

Raina Vanchat took one look at him and flatly refused even to try, picking in a bored fashion at her flowered top. Ward was pretty sure she was NOT going anywhere.

Camilla Reyes was next, a friend of Coulson's. She was tough and a good fighter. She also, after the test was over, popped a cheap shot at Ward's face, giving him a black eye and a deep gash on his face.

Coulson glared at his now ex-friend. May looked inscrutable. Skye called up to medical.

| P R |

"And how did this happen?" Her voice was soft and gentle but a little chastising as she brought over her tray full of medical supplies. The question did not seem especially directed towards him or Skye.

She was small, a tad shorter than Skye. Her brown hair hung down her back in a straight ponytail, and she wore a plain blouse over long khaki pants. Her hands were nimble and gentle, and her face one of sweet compassion. Her smiles were genuine, but there always seemed to be something sad lurking behind her hazel eyes.

"Camilla Reyes," Skye replied in an irritated tone, standing there with her arms crossed, her index finger tapping her other elbow impatiently. "Popped him a cheap shot after the compatibility test."

The pretty brunette sighed as she gently dabbed at the cut with some antiseptic. "She's done this before, just never in front of Marshal Coulson. She tried taking a cheap shot at May just two weeks ago and May beat her one-armed. I thought she'd learned her lesson, but she hasn't done. I'd like to believe the marshal will toss her out, now."

"I've already booked her on the first flight out," Skye replied, waving her tablet. "I'd put her in the cargo hold if I could."

"This may sting a little," the whitecoat said quietly to Ward as she applied the medicine. "And you may need some butterfly stitches for that gash below."

"Great," Skye mumbled. "Just great. I guess we'll be moving to the computer-simulated portion of our evening earlier than expected."

"There's no need for that," Ward started.

"Oh, there is," the doctor disagreed. She turned to look at some of the bruises appearing on his torso. "Did you grapple with Mike Peterson?"

"Yes. Why?"

"I recognize these bruises. Mike is stronger than he realizes." She tended to those, then moved on to another one. When she touched his back, he flinched - but not from pain. She seemed to realize she had brushed a scar - an old one. She quickly pulled back, her eyes meeting his with worried concern.

"I'm fine. Thanks for the treatment." He threw his shirt back on.

"Please," she said quietly, as she laid a hand on his arm. "Take some time to heal."

He could feel her hand burning through his shirt to his arm.

| P R |

"So, who's the doctor?" Ward asked once they were out of earshot of the infirmary.

Skye grinned. "Interested, are we?"

He gave her a pinched look. "No, just not rude," he shot back. "You didn't introduce us, although we were two strangers meeting for the first time."

"That's because she'd like to keep her distance," Skye replied in a tone which seemed to indicate she didn't think much of that idea. "But that's Jemma Simmons. She's a doctor, albeit not a medical one. Still, she knows enough to deal with our medical cases."

"Wait. She plays doctor here without a MD or a nurse's license; she's a PhD but isn't doing research for the PPDC?"

Skye gave him a warning look. "And now we're crossing into the distance she'd like to keep," she replied, opening the door to a library. "Let's talk drift compatilibility."

| P R |

The drift compatability discussion, Grant thought, was worse than the tests. They had been at it two hours already. Grant groaned as he rubbed his eyes and looked at the lists. "Barton."

"Barton's paired with Romanoff."

"Rogers."

"Rogers is with Carter."

"You?"

She snorted. "I did a drift compatibility test. Apparently I take too much into the drift; got a lecture from May about it. You and me? We'd be sitting down with the kaiju for a therapy session, not a fight. Besides, I like running LOCCENT. I'm good at giving orders." She gave him a playfully wide, cheesy grin of pride. "So don't piss me off, or I'll send you to go chase seagulls."

Grant groaned. "All right, what about Ranger May?"

Skye snorted into her clipboard. "I swear, if you believe you should pilot a jaeger with May just because you're a white dude and she's an Asian woman, I will slap you into next week."

Ward looked offended. "I'm not that shallow," he retorted. "Ranger May and I both came from the Operations academy at the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division. We were trained the same way. You looked at our profiles - you said my drift compatibility with her was higher than mine with others."

"Two things. First, May is fairly compatible with most people because she never brings anything into the drift with her. You might want to learn that."

Ward got a pinched look on his face.

"Still, it's not ideal - we know for sure that 'OK' drift compatibility can still hamper a team in the field. We're going for highest compatilibility we can."

"OK. And you said my compatibility with her was higher than mine with others," he repeated.

"And we come to the second thing," Skye replied sagely. "It's not just about compatibility with you. May has higher compatibility with" she checked her list "at least three others, including her permanent drift partner."

Ward paused. "She has a regular drift partner? I thought she just bounced around where she was needed."

Skye just smirked. "You didn't really believe she was just Coulson's second, did you?" She stopped in front of a wall panel, looking from side to side, then pretended to examine her clipboard as a crewman walked by. She then turned to the panel and quickly stuck a small thumbdrive into it, and a door swung open. She beckoned him inside, then quickly shut the door.

There were floor-to-ceiling, wall-to-wall rows of compact disks, each in a case and labeled with a name. Skye scanned a post-it note on her clipboard, then pulled down five CDs from random places.

"What's this for?"

"Compatibility," she replied mysteriously. "We're going to find you a partner."

* * *

Skye dropped the folder in front of Coulson. "I believe I found somebody." Her eyes danced.

May looked up from where she was working. "A partner for Grant Ward. That's good."

"He's been one of the most promising pilots at the academy," Coulson agreed. "Highest marks since Romanoff. It's just been this matter of finding him a co-pilot. Given his past, it's a wonder he doesn't take more with him into the drift."

"Here's my list. These four are OK - not great on compatibility, but so-so. Still, this one." Skye pointed at the folder in excitement. "James Menno."

May and Coulson exchanged looks.

"It's not so much that they're similar," Skye rushed on. "Like you've always said, it's about compatibility. Menno is strong psychologically. I believe he'll be able to withstand what Ward brings into the drift. Physically, he's got the same grace. Most of the other pilots rely on brute force, which is why we were having trouble matching Ward's movements - he doesn't like to admit it, but he's got both grace and power. Menno would be a good match, and backed by Ward's force and the jaeger's, we've got a powerful pair," Skye finished, her eyes bright at her success.

Coulson examined the list Skye had given him, then closed the folder. "I'll have Victoria Hand flown in."

"But - " Skye blinked in confusion as her smile fell from her face. "She's only number two on the list! I mean, she's got as much experience as both of you, but there's no way she's compatible with Ward," she argued. When Coulson looked up and raised an eyebrow, she amended, "I mean, she is - just not as much as James Menno!"

"We'll start with Hand," Coulson replied sharply, his tone allowing no argument.

May said nothing.

* * *

Ward started awake and glanced over at his clock. Four-twenty a.m. If he attempted to go back to sleep, he wasn't sure he'd end up actually getting any rest before he had to get up for real.

He changed and headed downstairs for his workout. He was not especially fond of having people near him, and a few of the members of the tech teams were too chatty for his tastes. At 4:20 in the morning, nobody would hopefully be downstairs working out. As he padded quietly through the halls, the silence reinforced his assumption.

No dice. He could hear voices as he finally approached the room with the grappling mats.

"One. Two. Three. ... Very nice. ... Forward. Back. ... Good."

It was May's voice.

There was a long series of thuds, what sounded like feet hitting the floor mats.

Ward walked stealthily towards the room. He peeked in, half-expecting - he didn't know what he was expecting.

Most certainly not Jemma Simmons.

She was not the most talented at what she was doing, but she was perhaps one of the most intent. Her movements were graceful if elementary, and she never lost focus. That was admirable. That would also explain May's patience - something Ward normally would not associate with her. Most teachers were patient with lack of skill and lack of knowledge; they were not so with lack of focus and willful ignorance, neither of which the scientist exhibited.

"All right. Let's work on something else, shall we?" May, again, as she looked briefly towards the doorway.

Grant left quickly.

| P R |

He went back later to find the workout room empty, the way he preferred it. After a long workout, he showered and headed down to the mess hall. It was still empty, relatively, so he got his breakfast and sat down at the far empty table.

He noticed Simmons sitting alone but made no movement to go near her. He just sat, eating, watching her steadily.

She was very, very quiet. She ate quickly but neatly and seemed lost in her own thoughts. The dog sat by her side, patiently, and she would reach over and scratch behind his ears. When she finished, she got up to put her tray away, and as she was leaving, she noticed him.

D-mn.

She approached, a warm smile on her face but that same sadness lurking behind her eyes. He wondered what had put that there. "Ranger Ward."

"Dr. Simmons."

She did not sit. He did not offer, though he knew he should.

"How are you feeling today?" she asked, gently, her eyes already straying to his blackened eye and the gash, held together by butterfly stitches. He remembered how her fingers had felt against his face.

"Better, thank you." His tone was curt. He did not want to think about her.

"Please do not forget to come by so I can take a look," she said with that same warmth she had greeted him with, despite him being rather rude to her twice in a minute. "Have a good day."

"You, too," he murmured as she turned to go.

His eyes did not leave her until she disappeared around the corner.

* * *

While he was waiting for Coulson to fly in Victoria Hand, he tested against several more candidates. He had them beat in a few moves, which just made Skye glare disapprovingly. He tore open his stitches, which made Dr. Simmons look at him disapprovingly.

He tested against more computer simulations. Some were better in compatibility, some were worse. All hovered around the mediocre: passable, but nothing to write home - if he had anybody at home to whom he'd even wish to write.

May was as inscrutable as ever. Coulson watched with growing impatience.

Victoria Hand arrived. He tested against her. She was good - very good. Better, more experienced than he. They were also not very compatible. John Garrett. Kwan Chen. It was the same circumstances repeated.

Miles Lydon Grant wanted to punch in the face. And that was the end of Skye's shortlist.

He was beginning to feel useless. He needed a partner in order to pilot a jaeger, but his years of cultivated loneliness, which he had thought beneficial, were now working against him. He reconsidered, not for the first time, dropping out of the PPDC and going back to SHIELD.

Skye and Coulson argued in heated whispers about something. Nothing came of it.

| P R |

The seventh night he was there was a big social: endless amounts of food, spread out on tables; music and an open dance floor; games. Normally Ward would have expected alcohol to be flowing, but far fewer people were drinking than he had thought - they were all on alert, during war. He noticed that the Local Command Center teams changed partway through the night - LOCCENT Gold appeared fairly late to the party, just as LOCCENT Green disappeared. LOCCENT Red, the team which had been manning the mission control center during the day, was the only group to stay throughout the festivities.

Coulson and May watched the proceedings with amusement, participating in some of the games, eating, watching the dancing. Coulson wandered among the groups, chatting with different people as he went by.

Skye was out on the dance floor, laughing. She danced with pilot candidates and mechanics and cheered on a race between two of the construction workers. She pulled him onto the dance floor: "Come on, Grouchy!"

She wasn't a bad partner - very enthusiastic. They danced two dances before he stepped off the floor.

He wandered into the jaeger bay, where most of the half-finished fighters stood silently, waiting for their human caretakers to return.

He climbed up the concrete stairs to the walkway overlooking the new Mark-2s and started forward to look at the Russian one before suddenly noticing somebody standing farther down, to his right.

Duffle growled at him from his spot next to her.

"Sh," Simmons hushed the dog.

They stood in companionable silence for a long time.

"Skye wants to develop a computer program to name the jaegers," she finally said, looking out at the large, immobile masses. "Instead of waiting months for the respective governments to come up with their own names."

"I'm not sure I'd trust naming conventions to a woman whose name is Skye spelled with an 'e'."

At that, Simmons laughed softly. It was sweet, melodic. Sad, he thought again.

"There are rumors that the Peruvian one is to be called Solar Prophet." She was quiet for a moment. "The Russians have also just forwarded money for that Mark-2."

"There's talk of a Vladivostok Shatterdome," he replied. "They most likely want a Mark-2 to go with the Kaidonovskys' Cherno Alpha, which'll no doubt get relocated if Vladivostok opens."

She nodded.

He wondered why she was out here, alone. He did not press.

The music changed, and he impulsively held out a hand to her. She looked at him, surprised, and hesitated. He was about to withdraw his offer when she shyly put her hand in his.

The minute her hand touched his, he knew it was a mistake. And when he looked down at her, he could see instantly she knew it, too, her brow slightly furrowed in concern, her eyes searching his with worry.

They danced anyhow, each step an afterthought. It was as easy as dancing alone - there were no crossed lines, no stepped toes, none of it. Even the dog was quiet.

As they moved through the first dance and straight into the second one, not even noticing that the music had changed, he kept staring down at her, as if he couldn't take his eyes away. She never stopped looking at him.

This time, when the music ended, there was a loud commotion. Somewhere, distantly, he heard somebody calling her name. She quickly stepped away and headed for the staircase, giving him the same, concerned and puzzled look she had worn the whole time, before she rushed away.

Neither noticed Melinda May, standing in the shadow of Tango Tasmania, looking up.

**NEXT**


	2. Chapter 2

**Monsters of Our Own**  
by Sammie

Disclaimer and author's notes in part 1.

* * *

The next morning, he was woken up with a hand over his mouth. He nearly wiped the floor with the intruder, and was only stopped because the intruder was Melinda May, and she was already injured. "What the h - "

"Get dressed. Mats room in ten."

Ten minutes later, he was still wiping sleep from his eyes as he headed down to the workout area, past all the machines, past the basketball courts. Nobody was awake. HE was not completely awake when he reached the grappling mats and the boxing ring at the far end, but it was good enough.

The celebrated ranger was already there in the boxing ring with Dr. Simmons, her shoulder-length hair tied up and hidden under her helmet. He had expected to see her there when May woke him up and demanded he show up in the workout rooms. Simmons, however, looked surprised, standing there looking down at him.

Using her good arm, May tossed him a helmet and gloves.

Ward made a quick discovery barely five minutes in: sparring with Dr. Simmons was almost no different from dancing with her the night before. He had held back on the first round and gotten tapped rather quickly; while she didn't have the physical strength he did, she more than had the mental capacity to keep up - and more than just keep up. Each movement was fluid and quick, beautiful but sharp. They moved as if each anticipated the other's next action, in almost a choreographed dance.

He wondered if this was what matched pilots felt in a compatibility drift test; if it was, then he was beginning to see why the powers that be always looked like they'd just sucked lemons when they watched him test with a potential copilot. No wonder Pentecost, who was always stoically business-like, had looked so frustrated. This was a whole different level of - of something.

When they finished, May merely nodded. "Go shower. Get breakfast."

* * *

He showered quickly, then hung around, waiting - and trying not to seem like it. Not long after, he saw Simmons approach - with Skye chattering away at her side. He tried not to be disappointed; he had hoped to catch the scientist alone. He straightened, then greeted them with a small smile. "Morning."

Skye looked suspicious.

"What?" his smile disappeared.

"That looks more like you," Skye replied, waving at his now frowning face.

That made Ward scowl more, and Simmons protested. "Oh, Skye, he has a nice smile," she began, then turned red as both of them turned to her. "I mean, given his facial symmetry and cheekbones, it's completely genetic, I'm sure, as is the straight teeth and the - I should stop talking, shouldn't I?" Red-faced, she hurried past them into the food serving line.

Skye's grin was full of mischief.

Breakfast - once Simmons stopped being embarrassed - was a pleasant affair. Trip and Peterson joined them - or rather, the ladies: it was obvious the former had his eye on the scientist.

"They don't call her the Cavalry for nothing," Trip was saying. "But Cabo did a number."

"Cabo San Lucas?" Ward asked. He had been undercover with SHIELD when the kaiju attacks began. He had known SHIELD agents had aided local militaries in battling the kaiju - they WERE alien hostiles, which was SHIELD's area - but he had not know the extent of their role.

"Kaiceph," Trip nodded, naming the kaiju which had attacked that Mexican city. "I was there when Coulson and Garrett pulled her out of the SHIELD fighter plane. May was a complete mess. Got surgery and ended up with one leg just a shade shorter than the other. She's got to wear lifts for her shoes now."

"I'm surprised the PPDC took her, then," Peterson commented. "Especially to pilot."

"I'll bet that's why she's got her own personal medic," Skye said loyally, throwing her arm around Simmons, who just blushed and said nothing.

"Besides, you don't get better than the Cavalry," Trip replied. "She could pilot a washing machine into battle and win."

"What happened to her arm?" Ward asked. "She's got some harness thing on."

"Fell," Skye replied. "She was helping some mechanics in the conn-pod on the Panama jaeger, and the floor fell through. They both got hurt. She managed to catch him and herself before he crashed into the bottom of the jaeger, but she twisted her shoulder."

"And she refuses to listen to my directions to rest it," Simmons huffed in irritation. The others laughed. Ward looked at her steadily, his lips twitching in amusement.

"So what IS she doing here? Hong Kong's miles away," Peterson commented.

"She's here to help Coulson," Trip shrugged. "She was helping him recruit some of us SHIELD agents for temporary loan to the PPDC."

"She can't just be here for that," Ward replied suspiciously.

"Rumor was something happened in Hong Kong," Skye replied, shrugging. "She decided to leave with Coulson."

They speculated about it, but the neuroscientist did not enter the discussion. She was very quiet, Ward thought.

* * *

Coulson smiled as May entered his office. "Morning."

"Morning." She sat down in the chair in front of his desk and then said bluntly, without ceremony, "Simmons IS compatible with Ward."

Coulson's smile fell off his face.

"I saw them dancing last night. I tested them this morning in the ring."

Coulson shook his head. "You know she can't get back in a conn-pod."

"I know she suffered a huge loss in a conn-pod," May corrected. "That is not the same."

"She hasn't been able to work properly since," Coulson argued.

"We haven't asked her to do work since," May corrected. "That is not the same."

"She's a scientist."

"Caitlin Lightcap has been piloting a Mark-1 PROTOTYPE with Sergio D'onofrio since the jaeger program started," May pointed out. "She's a scientist." When Coulson opened his mouth to protest again, she interrupted. "Phil, there are only two people in the world who understand the drift itself better than Simmons. One is Lightcap, who is BOTH doing research AND fighting kaiju, and the other is dead."

"The second is precisely why I don't want her back in a conn-pod," he snapped.

"And that's exactly why Simmons needs to get back in one," May replied. "She does her best work in the field. You know that."

"Melinda - "

"Did you ever consider that Grant Ward might be the one to bring Simmons back?" May challenged. "Skye already told us that Simmons is his match psychologically, the one able to sustain him through his angst in the drift. Did you ever consider he might be the same for her?"

Coulson was silent.

Her voice softened. "Phil, I get that you feel guilt over what happened. Their parents put them into your care twenty years ago, for you to oversee. But this is a war, and there are casualties, and he was an unfortunate casualty."

She took a deep breath. "But Simmons - she's had her time to mourn. We - and Skye - have helped her through that. Simmons is healing."

"She's always been in a lab," Coulson replied, a little weakly, as if he knew he was losing the argument. "She's not ready for the battlefield."

"Simmons has been working with me since they came to the PPDC, before the accident. She's been training for two years, daily, with the same laser focus she takes to her academic studies - and you know how quick she is with those. She has the endurance and the mental perseverance she needs to pilot a jaeger."

May paused for a moment, as if considering and reconsidering what she was going to say next. "And Phil - Simmons needs a little push to get back. Perhaps Grant Ward is it. And heaven knows that she is HIS match - she can get him into a jaeger. Best skills since Romanoff, Phil. Don't waste them."

He looked at her a long time, thinking. He finally sighed. "Call Skye here. And then Simmons. I'll give her a choice."

* * *

Ward didn't know why he was getting a drivesuit. The whole thing was stupid, especially if he wasn't going to have a drift partner anyhow, and so he wasn't going to pilot a jaeger. Why have the drivesuit if one wasn't going to drive one of the battle robots? A waste of a good suit, he thought, as he looked around the makeshift drivesuit room. And a waste of his time and his energy.

Skye, of course, had been bouncing off the walls with glee. When he asked her if she knew anything more, he only got a sad attempt at a mysterious look and a zipping motion over her lips.

Of all the times not to talk, he thought grumpily, she chose NOT to talk when he was being forced to drift with some co-pilot candidate he didn't even know.

Ward looked over to see another team of technicians, working on a much smaller and older drivesuit. There were some burn marks on it, and the whole thing was a bit clunkier. It seemed to have been repurposed, fixed as best as possible. Some of the paneling wasn't even the same color as the rest of the suit.

The team worked quite efficiently, fitting the suit around him. He felt like a race car pulled into a pit stop. They asked him to turn his head back and forth to test the weight of the helmet on his head; as he looked to his right, towards the door, he saw her standing there.

Jemma Simmons gave him a tiny, nervous smile, then walked over to the head of the team and stepped onto the pilot platform like a veteran. Some of the waiting technicians instantly rushed over to fit the older drivesuit onto her; without even needing their oral directions, she lifted her arms, her legs, her head at the appropriate times.

It suddenly occurred to Ward: she had been in a drivesuit before. That was certainly a surprise. There were a great many things, he thought, that he did not know.

It took a good twenty minutes to be readied - these jaeger crew teams had really learned to cut down on the prep time, Ward thought - and then the two of them headed to the elevators. They were shuttled up to the conn-pod simulator room, which was off to the right of LOCCENT.

He said nothing to her as they approached the conn-pod, nothing as they strapped into the harnesses and the cords were attached to the helmets. The control panel before them was dark.

Over the room's intercom came Skye's voice. "Gemini," she began, using the code-name designated for pilot pairs not yet assigned jaegers, "I will be turning on the control panel, and then I will countdown three minutes to neural bridge calibration."

In three minutes, Ward thought, Simmons would be in his head - see his memories. Find out why he had that horrible scar on his back, the one which had so worried her before. And, of course, the opposite would happen, too: he would learn why she always looked so sad.

They just stood silently, watching as the conn-pod slowly light up, each of the different displays coming on before the buttons at their hands did. Ward could feel the relay gel in the circuitry of the drivesuit. The conn-pod communications came on, and the room intercom shut off. There was less static now in the transmissions. Crisper. Less background noise.

Skye began the countdown.

Ward shifted slightly in his spot in the conn-pod on the right. Coulson had requested he take the place of the dominant pilot, and the younger man had agreed readily. Now, however, he was wondering if it were the right thing. Simmons seemed rather familiar with the whole drivesuit process - more than he. A sudden thought occurred to him.

"Neural bridge initializing," came Skye's voice, smooth over the conn-pod system. "Initiating neural handshake in ten. Nine. ..."

Ward looked to his left, straight at her. "Have you drifted before?"

She looked back at him for a moment. "Yes."

"... One. Zero. Initiating pilot-to-pilot neural interface."

| P R |

Grant felt himself physically step back a moment as they connected. There were, for a moment, just flashes: him, his older brother, his younger brother. His parents. Cake. Bottom of a well.

He also saw unfamiliar images. Hong Kong. A smiling couple. A little girl, twirling in a new dress. A little boy with curly hair, his hand securely tucked in another woman's.

School. A teacher, looking at the bruises on his collarbone with concern. A coach, looking concerned. Juvie. Nick Fury.

An unfamiliar school. Science lab equipment. A small explosion. Award ceremony. Nick Fury.

Grant started for a moment.

"Ward?" Skye's voice broke into his thoughts.

"Hold on." He took a deep breath, and then he felt what seemed like a gentle warmth brush over him. He relaxed and slipped back into it.

The images became short clips. Ward forced himself not react with glee or concern. He'd heard from veteran pilots that when one drifted to the point of visually seeing video, one was entering into a compatible drift. He had never expected to get to this point. It was terrifying and exciting.

Very consciously, Ward allowed the memories of his brothers to flow out. His older brother, burning cigarettes on his younger brother's skin, then on his own when he intervened. The deep scar on his back, which was from being struck with a handsaw.

He remembered what May had said to him before sending him off to get his drivesuit. Conventional ranger wisdom recommended clearing the mind of all thoughts. He should not, May had said. Emptying one's mind allowed other unconscious things to take over. Rather, he had to be careful to focus on the task at hand, allowing memories to pass by with an acknowledgment but without engagement. It was always the bad memories, she said, which were Random Access Brain Impulse Triggers. A pilot needed to focus on not chasing the RABIT down the hole.

Very slowly, Ward turned his focus off his older brother. He let the memories wash over without chasing them. He could feel his frustration, anger, despair as he relived his memories; and then suddenly he was hit by a wave of something else. It nearly bowled him over for a second, and he gasped aloud at the strength of it.

It was his drift partner.

He'd become so attuned to his feelings in these memories: fear, anger, hurt. This wave of empathy and mercy felt so alien he hadn't known what it was until he realized he was seeing what she was feeling when she saw his memories.

Even as he went through his memories again - his older brother's abuse, his guardians' _laissez-faire_ approach to parenting - he could feel something beside him. It was the same sense he got when he first went to the Hub as a new SHIELD agent and saw the size of the group he was with, the first time he boarded one of its transports - a sense that no matter what happened to him, there was a huge group backing him up. For somebody so physically small, Simmons projected huge - and strong. He could feel his own memories colored by her compassion.

Skye's voice broke through. "Gemini, lining up nicely. Let's try some maneuvers. Fist wrap salute."

Without even thinking, both clenched the right fist and placed the left palm over the fist. First move flawless. Ward could feel the synchronicity of movement with his co-pilot. It was a little exhilarating. It was a little weird.

He saw her memories, too.

- _ drift_ -

_"Come ON, Fitz!" the little girl tugs at her peacoat and stops long enough to turn around, the soft curls in her hair bouncing impatiently. "Let's GO!" _

_She is adorable. She has on patent leather Mary Janes on her feet, buckled neatly and looking quite shined. Her socks are plain but hold up, and she wears a little blue peacoat that covers her dress. Her hair has been lovingly clipped up on each side with little silver butterfly clips. _

_"I don't WANT to!" the little boy shouts back at her, frowning, his arms crossed. He is dressed like a proper British schoolboy, his light brown hair full of tight curls. When she doesn't respond to his protest and just takes off on her own, he shouts after her, "Jem-MA!" before stomping a little foot and hurrying after her, a pout on his baby face._

- _ drift_ -

_The two children stand in the airport, their faces twisted in agony but not crying. Their parents are hugging them, tears in their eyes. An adult in a suit_ - Coulson! Ward was surprised - _leads them gently by the hand onto the plane. As they walk onto the jetbridge, a little Jemma Simmons turns and waves to her parents, sniffling. _

_Both children climb into their seats and hold their stuffed animals up over their heads as Coulson gently buckles them in. They sit with their feet sticking out in front of them on the seat, tears rolling down their faces._

- _ drift_ -

_There are two very tall, pudgy grandfatherly gentlemen standing in the doorway of the country cottage. Both children look up at them - they seem like giants. Fitz presses his face into Coulson's side. _

_Two Corgis run out: an older, more settled mature one ("settled" being a relative term for Corgis) and a happier, yippy one, who wiggles his way up to each child, his tail smacking their legs in his glee. The faces of the two small children melt into timid smiles._

- _ drift_ -

_The small English cottage has a veritable menagerie: little wounded birds and a cat (kept separate, of course), and a small hutch of tiny baby bunnies. The housekeeper shrieks when she comes into the side room, seeing both children - older, now - with bottles of different colors of food coloring, and the little white baby bunnies with different colored spots on them. She starts scolding, even as Simmons can be heard protesting, "But it's just food coloring! We can't tell them apart without the colors!"_

| P R |

Ward saw Simmons and Fitz cry when their guardians' older Corgi passed on, and then their frozen faces when they came home and found one of their guardians passed away, quietly sitting in his chair, as if asleep. He saw Simmons's enthusiasm when they first arrived on Kodiak Island, Fitz looking up in apprehension and she looking up with a big beam on her face, her eyes lighting up as she squeezed his shoulders.

"All right, Gemini," came Skye's voice again. "Fighting stance, please."

The mechanics of the conn-pod simulator were as tight and as heavy as those for the real conn-pods. While the jaegers took electronic commands from their pilots, there was still the mechanics of it. Getting a jaeger to move its leg involved lifting one's own leg - easy - while it was attached to what felt like a half-ton elliptical - not easy. Still, though, effortlessly, they assumed the fighting stance.

"Looking good." Skye's voice was calm, but her excitement was evident.

In the drift, Ward saw his own path cross Simmons's at Kodiak. It was almost eerie how many times they missed each other, how many times he'd nearly met her. He saw her back disappearing into the lab as he headed to a pilots' briefing. She accidentally left her umbrella in the doorway once, and he grabbed it on the way out before putting it back when he finished. He saw her and Fitz run into a huge lecture hall, where Jasper Schoenfeld was standing, and then quickly argue between themselves as they rushed out; he showed Simmons from his own memories how he was there that day, down in the lower level of the auditorium.

He saw them step off the helicopter onto the roof of the Hong Kong Shatterdome, where Coulson and May were waiting for them with smiles.

- _ drift_ -

_"Simmons!" Fitz stares at her, wide-eyed. _

_"Isn't he so adorable?" Simmons beams as she cuddles the small Corgi puppy to her chest. _

_"We can't have a dog in here!" _

_"Why not? Chuck Hansen has a dog, and he's not even in the PPDC yet." _

_"Chuck Hansen's father and his uncle are the Hansen brothers!" Fitz exclaims. "Chuck could paint the jaegers with Hello Kitty on them and nobody would object!" _

_"But look at this face," Simmons says, holding out the little puppy, who gives Fitz a shy, sad look. "I'm going to call him Duffle." _

_"If we're going to have a pet," Fitz huffs, "we should have a monkey. He - " _

_" - oh, not this, again! A monkey would - " _

_" - could go down into the parts of the jaeger nobody else could! And he - "_

| P R |

"All right, Gemini," came Skye's voice. "Boxing punch."

Ward was about to retort: from which side was the attack coming? Above? Below? Then he realized, just as soon as the first thought occurred to him, that that was the whole point: if they were thinking together, they'd come up with the same scenario, or be able to adjust it on the spot.

He was about to relax when he realized something was wrong. It was the horn which threw him - and dragged him in.

- _ drift_ -

It was the Hong Kong Shatterdome. He recognized it. He also saw that, by the date listed on the daily bulletin board, this was not one of the times he had been there. This was Simmons's memory - and he'd been dragged into it. She was chasing the RABIT.

He was suddenly in an unfamiliar conn-pod. _There is a voice coming over the line, a familiar one he hasn't heard in a long time: Tendo Choi, LOCCENT officer. "Boxing punch."_

He turned forward to look at the pilots. _Simmons is standing the dominant, right-side position in the conn-pod. She carefully assumes a fighting stance, her hands up. She wears a drivesuit which looks similar to the one she was wearing now, but newer and undamaged._

Wait - if she was in the right position in the conn-pod, then -

Ward looked over to the left side. It was Fitz.

| P R |

"Simmons." Ward's voice was audible. "Simmons!" A little louder.

She had said she had drifted before. She had - with Fitz.

Skye's voice broke through, tense. "Out of alignment!" There was a pause. "Simmons! Simmons, you're out of alignment!"

The scientist assumed the boxing stance again, but her eyes seemed to be looking straight through the conn-pod display into some distant thing.

Ward reached out to find Simmons in the drift and was hit hard by something that didn't feel familiar. He could feel waves of fear coming off of her.

He pushed back, hard. He tried to hold firm, being for her what she had been for him. Still, it was like standing still when a wave hit. He broke the wave, but the shock of it left him gasping.

He could hear Coulson's voice over the line: "Simmons! Get it together!"

- _ drift_ -

_They punch together - left fist first, a fast jab, and then the right. _

_The drift is strong. _

_They go through several motions, including some fighting stances and use of equipment - all simulations. Fitz hits a switch to activate a shoulder cannon. A few minutes later, the conn-pod shudders. _

_"What was that?" Fitz is looking around. _

_Suddenly the conn-pod sparks, and within seconds a fire is raging._

"SIMMONS!" Grant shouted, now. "Simmons! Let it go. It's only a memory."

_Both of the scientists are yelling. _

_"Don't disengage!" Fitz shouts, his voice dim and scratchy in the smoke. "We have to let them disengage the handshake, first!" _

_Simmons nods and pulls free from her hookup but does not take off her helmet. She grabs for the door above her head to get out of the small conn-pod simulator. _

_It's stuck. _

_Soon the whole room is on fire, and in the smoke, it's nearly impossible to see. Fitz and Simmons are both screaming. People are banging on the conn-pod doors above them, trying to unjam the doors. There is Scott Hansen's voice, shouting; Coulson's voice, giving orders._

"Simmons." Ward changed tack, trying to soften his voice instead, physically reaching out for her. She didn't seem to hear him. "Jemma," he called, gently. Her given name sounded odd on his tongue. "Jemma, let go. Come out of it."

_Melinda May's face appears in the window above Simmons's position at one point, her lips moving. She's gone a second later. A few minutes later, banging on both ends of the conn-pod - at Simmons's end, it's Stacker Pentecost, the tall black man swinging a sledgehammer at the window. The doors hold fast: it seems after a kaiju ripped one conn-pod apart, they decided to batten down the doors, but now they're almost un-openable from inside. _

_The minutes are interminable. Suddenly Simmons' door is yanked clean off, the hinges broken. The sudden influx of air causes the flames inside the conn-pod to explode and to engulf the conn-pod. A fire extinguisher goes off, hitting her suit first. The red-headed Australian jaeger pilot, Hercules Hansen, reaches into the pod for Simmons. _

_The fire is still going. _

_The screaming is getting louder, and now there is only one voice screaming, and then there's a sudden snap - it's blinding behind the eyes and feels like a body slam against the mind._

| P R |

Grant dropped back a step visibly, gasping, and came to. He felt like his skin was on fire, burning and melting, but he shook himself awake. It was only a memory. He was back in his own conn-pod, and Simmons was next to him, screaming, her hands tearing at her legs and her face. He started to pull off his helmet, then froze for a second, fearing that disconnecting himself from the neural connection without warning to her would hurt her. "Disengage neural handshake!" he shouted at Skye.

There was an interminable sixty-second wait until he saw Skye signal him the connection had been cut. In LOCCENT, Coulson and May were already gone, having left the center at a run. Ward ripped off his helmet and ran around to her side, pulling off her helmet, grabbing her arms and pinning them against her torso, trying to keep her from destroying her drivesuit and scratching herself to bleeding. "Simmons. Simmons. It's a memory. C'mon."

She was hyperventilating, scrubbing at her hands and body in blind panic, still screaming.

"Get them out of here!" he shouted at Skye, pointing to audience gathering in LOCCENT.

When Jemma finally stopped screaming, she passed out.


	3. Chapter 3

**Monsters of Our Own**  
by Sammie

Disclaimer, summary, main author's notes in part 1.

A/N for part 3: Sorry about the delay. I had homework to finish (I know! It's summer!) and had to forbid myself from posting again until it was done. .:sigh:.

**THANK YOU** to everyone who has read and reviewed. I'm sorry to the anonymous reviewers that I can't reply, but I do read your reviews and appreciate the time you take to write!

One of Skye's lines is a Dave Barry quote, and Ward's pun praise for Simmons actually is Brett Dalton's for Elizabeth Henstridge. The non-canon jaeger names - all but three - are from "4th String Jaegers - Earth's Last Hope". Totally worth combing through if you're a "Pacific Rim" fan.

* * *

"You might as well sleep," Skye commented as she looked at him sitting on the hospital bed, with all kinds of random tags and monitors hooked up to his body. "They'll want to see overnight whether or not you have residual effects from the drift."

Of course Ward did have. He was fortunate enough not to be disoriented from the drift; first drifts, even normal ones, often discombobulated the pilots, and his first drift was by no means normal. Even without the mental fog, however, he did have other side effects - that muted link to his copilot, even after being disconnected. He had scoffed (silently) when other pilots had talked of the 'ghost drift', that sixth sense of still being or needing to be connected to their copilots and their jaegers. Now he knew better.

His skin itched.

He did not want to sleep. He wanted his drift partner.

"Do you know what happened?" he finally asked.

"Jemma chased the RABIT," Skye replied. "She went out of alignment, and then you got pulled into her memory. But that's all I can tell you. You would know more, having drifted with her."

Ward did not want to spill the scientist's secrets without her consent. He decided to try something else, something he had been wondering since the drift. He'd seen it; he now wanted confirmation. "Do you know why she came here to Lima?"

"All I know is she suffered a pretty bad loss - a friend named Fitz. Both of them were working with Dr. Caitlin Lightcap, doing the neuroscientific studies for the drift. Fitz died or disappeared or something. Then Jemma came here, and she hasn't done much since." Skye shook her head. "I was brought on here, so I don't know much. Coulson would know."

Ward spent a few more hours in the infirmary hospital bed as medical doctors flown in from Hong Kong fretted over him and video-conferenced with their colleagues still in the shatterdome. They then went to the next room to take care of Simmons.

He was not permitted to see her.

* * *

He requested an appointment to see Coulson for when he got out of the infirmary. Much to his surprise - or perhaps not so much, given of what he knew of the man - Coulson came to see him in his infirmary room, as soon as the doctors declared the ranger safe from any immediate danger.

"Figured I'd relieve your boredom here," the older man said with a tired smile as he sat down in the chair next to Ward's bed. "What can I do for you?"

"Answer some questions." Ward paused, then added, "Please."

"About Jemma?"

Ward did not miss the affectionately pained use of the scientist's given name. "About the accident, specifically."

The older man rubbed his eyes, looking much wearier and much older. "His name was Leopold Fitz," he began, answering Ward's unspoken question. "They grew up together. Jemma specialized in neurology and biochemistry; Fitz was an engineer. They were perfect choices to work with Drs. Schoenfeld and Lightcap to develop jaegers - and later, to work on the pons systems, to develop the helmets and the drivesuits to help pilots drift. While Lightcap was focused on getting jaegers into the field, Fitz and Simmons worked on the details of the neural connections between pilots. They were trying out some experimental neural links when the fire occurred."

"What caused it?"

"Faulty switch, if you would believe it. Fitz was testing something in the conn-pod and ordered a specific switch for the device he was futzing with. When it didn't come, the conn-pod technician teams used the normal switch in the altered device."

A switch. It was just a switch. It was a simple human error take which had killed a man and left his best friend in the state she was in. Ward breathed in. "The switch overloaded," he guessed. "Sparked. Then the electrical fire."

Coulson nodded. "Then it was the door. After Horizon Brave's incident, we decided to tighten up and weight down all the jaeger escape doors on the Mark-1s. Because we did it there, we decided to do it in the simulator, too. During that fire, we couldn't get the conn-pod doors open. We finally got through to Jemma, but not to Fitz in time."

"She was still connected when he died," Ward said shortly.

Coulson stared at him a moment, then sighed. "I had hoped not," he said softly. "But her behavior afterwards seemed to indicate yes. And now you have confirmed it."

Ward was silent. "What happened afterwards?"

"It wasn't that hard to keep the experiment quiet. We'd been using a part of the Hong Kong Shatterdome that was off-limits to most personnel, and what FitzSimmons were doing was pretty classified, anyhow. The only ones who knew of the experiment were the Hansen brothers, Stacker Pentecost, Tendo Choi at LOCCENT, and May and I."

"People would notice if one person suddenly just stopped appearing around the facility," Ward argued.

"They'd just come to Hong Kong two weeks prior, so not that many people knew who they were."

"So you left Hong Kong, then - all three of you."

Coulson paused, then nodded. "The PPDC had wanted to open a shatterdome in the Western Hemisphere. May and I had already talked about going. Less than a month after the accident, once Jemma was healthy enough to move, we all left." He sighed. "We hoped the distance would be helpful. You can see how vivid the memory of the accident was."

Ward nodded. After a moment, he said, softly, "I can still try a drift with James Menno."

Coulson rubbed his eyes. "No, you can't."

Frowning, Ward stared at the marshal for a second, even as his own brain ticked through possibilities as to Coulson's resistance. Suddenly, realization dawned on him: 'James' - for 'Jemma'. 'Menno' - from 'Menno _Simmons_'. "'James Menno' IS Jemma Simmons," he said, looking to the marshal for confirmation. "That pilot profile is hers."

Coulson nodded. "Now you know why I wouldn't bring 'him' in to test with you."

The ranger looked at him, then nodded.

* * *

Ward was allowed to leave for a very late dinner, and although he had no desire to eat with other people, he needed to stretch his legs and and get out of the medical wing. He walked to the mess hall alone. He could feel the eyes of every passer-by eyes on him, but he ignored each, and nobody dared to approach him. Thankfully, given the late hour, the hall was empty. Skye sat down with him, but they did not speak.

That night, he was finally allowed to see Jemma. She was awake, her eyes surprisingly not bloodshot. He rapped lightly on the wall nearest her bed.

She looked up, then smiled tiredly.

Her hand peeped out from the blanket. He itched to touch it - residual connection from the drift, he supposed. He resisted. He sat down in the chair and put his hands definitively into his lap. After a moment, he asked, "How are you doing?"

"No seizures," she said quietly.

"No physical damage?" he asked.

She laughed hollowly. "Nothing worse than before." She pulled up the hospital blanket up to her knees, and pulled her arms out from underneath.

He started a moment, swallowing back bile. She still wore scars from the fire all over her legs, especially on her shins. He could see clearly where the plates of the drivesuit had been, where the skin was less damaged. The skin had a bit of a melted look to it, although everything was completely healed now.

On the unburned skin on her arms and shoulders, he could see the faint brown lines covering every inch of skin before they disappeared under her hospital gown. They were the straight lines and whorls from the neural circuitry on the drivesuit, when it had overloaded during the fire and imprinted - burned? - onto her skin. Her body was covered in them. Whatever hadn't been burned in the fire had been burned by the circuitry of the suit.

No wonder she was always wearing long-sleeved shirts and long pants, despite the heat.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. He didn't know what about. Everything, he supposed. Putting her through all that again.

"I ought to have told you." She paused. "I should not have attempted to drift again."

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked softly.

She looked at him, frowning. "You were in my head. You saw all of it."

"Talking about it isn't just informing the other person. It's also about you working out how you feel about it." She stared incredulously at him; she had to know from his memories that he was not a talker. He gave her a sheepish look, with a tiny smile. "Or so I've been told."

She smiled for real, then - warm and sweet and amused. If he'd known that this was all it took to see that smile, he'd done it earlier. He hadn't seen her smile like this in person; he'd only ever seen it in the drift, and it was different to experience it in person than to see it as a memory. Her smile now was just as beautiful, but sadder - tempered.

"I saw the memories as they flashed by," Ward continued, feeling as if he ought to fill the silence. "Doesn't mean I had access to all their context."

"Where do you want me to start?"

"Preferably at the beginning, but it's up to you. Whatever you're comfortable with."

She nodded, then gathered her thoughts. She was silent for a few minutes, and then: "My parents and Fitz's mum - our parents all worked for SHIELD. My mum was a scientist, my dad in communications; Fitz's mum was a technician. Twenty years before the kaiju attacks, they picked up some readings that made them worry that Hong Kong would be a target for some alien attack." She paused. "Also, they were watching 1997 - when Hong Kong would be returned to China."

He nodded silently.

"They were committed to helping SHIELD fight whatever was coming, so they stayed in Hong Kong - and did what all good British parents do in wartime," she said, with a small, sad, bittersweet laugh. "They sent us to the English countryside. We stayed with a pair of bachelor brothers, elderly professors at Oxford."

"Did you find a wardrobe portal into another world?" he teased, and it got the reaction he wanted, that beautiful smile, again.

"It seems portals are never really wonderfully magical, are they?" she said wistfully, after a quiet moment. "Even a wardrobe portal leads to a world of eternal winter and death."

"I always thought the beauty of the book wasn't that it was a perfect escape, but that the world was set right," he said quietly. Just like they were trying to do now.

She looked back at him, thinking for a minute, and then there was another smile as she nodded in agreement. "But not without sacrifice," she said softly.

"No," he replied. "But nothing worth having comes without a heavy price." They were silent a while, and then he brought the subject back. "You were sent home to Britain."

"They asked Agent Coulson to take us. One of the brothers was Dr. Franklin Hall - a SHIELD asset who had taught my mum. He and his brother were lovely guardians. They loved children - in the normal way, of course. They doted on us. Perhaps they were not as regulated as they should have been in the household," she said in a faraway, wistful voice. "Perhaps they were a little too indulgent of our eccentricities."

Grant smiled, his eyes crinkling a little at the corners. "I saw your personal zoo."

That made her smile. "Much to the horror of our housekeeper," Jemma recalled fondly, and this time he thought he could hear her affection and laughter. "We couldn't say no to any tiny animal we found, and the two brothers had trouble saying no to us. They passed away when Fitz and I were at university."

"And your parents?"

"Died on a SHIELD mission when we were ten years old," she said softly. "Fitz's mum was on the rescue team, died two years later from exposure to nuclear radiation. The Drs. Hall became our guardians."

He was silent. He reached over, taking her hand in his, and squeezed it in his.

She paused for a moment, as if deciding what she wanted to tell him and what she didn't. "Not long after we got our doctorates, Coulson came back for us. Recruited us for SHIELD. We were only there a few months when Nick Fury loaned us all to the PPDC." Her voice trembled. "Fitz never wanted to go," she ground out with difficulty, her eyes filling with tears. "He hated being in the field. Going to Kodiak Island, to help out with the PPDC proving grounds, was my idea."

"Coulson said you were working with Lightcap."

"The original plan was never to use two people to pilot a jaeger," she said. "We didn't believe it was necessary. But we saw the test runs done by Captain Casey and Lt. D'onofrio in the prototype jaeger. It was just too much neurally for either man to handle. Once we hit upon using a pilot PAIR to run a jaeger, everything fell in place."

"Jasper Schoenfeld's jaegers were commissioned based on Lt. D'onofrio's and Dr. Lightcap's successful drift and operation of Brawler Yukon," Ward recalled, thinking back over the reports.

Simmons nodded. "After that, the three of us had to redesign everything: the process to link pilots - the pons systems to take them into the drift; the conn-pod itself; the connection between pilots and jaeger."

"So when did you go to Hong Kong, if you were doing all this research on Kodiak Island?"

She thought for a moment. "It was pretty soon," she replied. "The jaeger pilot academy was starting. Caitlin opted to stay with Sergio on Kodiak Island: teach the new co-pilots about the drift and the pons system. But Hong Kong was the first Shatterdome, the first place where pilots were going to operate jaegers in the field. The PPDC wanted monitors to track the pilots' neural conditions before, during, and after battle."

"You and Fitz volunteered," Ward finished.

"I volunteered and Fitz followed," she corrected in a tone that still sounded guilty.

He just squeezed her hand. He disagreed with her self-blame for Fitz's death, and he had no doubt it showed on his face, but now was not the time to push her on that point. "What were you working on when the accident occurred?"

"Tighter pilot-to-pilot neural handshake," she replied automatically.

Ward blinked. "You don't believe pilots are too connected already?" he said doubtfully.

"Pilot compatibility is fairly restrictive - it must be a marriage of the minds psychologically, emotionally, physically. Not an exact similarity, mind you - a pairing. That means we have to find matched pairs."

He knew well what that meant. He knew too well what that meant. It was looking for a needle in a haystack if one wasn't already matched. It was providential for him he ever found a drift partner.

"Fitz, Caitlin, and I speculated that perhaps we could marry the minds even more closely - that instead of sharing headspace, the impulsive reaction of one was automatically in the other as well."

"If I itched, so would you."

"Yes - not just emotional responses, but inadvertent physical responses. That would mean connecting neurologically in even a tighter fashion. Ironically, it would eliminate the need for emotional compatibility - we could focuse purely on the physical responses in fighting. If you itched and your co-pilot itched at the same time and you had the same response automatically, one could shut out the emotional link."

He tried not to look hopeful - even if they could achieve this, it would be too late to aid him, get him a partner. He settled on looking amused, watching her eyes sparkle as she talked about her research. She was being wasted here, he thought. She was more than a medic - she was an innovator, a researcher.

"We hoped we could eliminate the need for speaking entirely," Jemma continued. "Pilots still talk when they're in the conn-pod. There is still the possibility of one doing something the other does not want or intend to do. If our theory was right, we would severely reduce the problems resulting from that."

"That's what you were testing," he said quietly. "When the fire started."

She nodded.

"How many times had you drifted with Fitz?" he asked suddenly.

"Three."

So he hadn't been wrong - she was a veteran drifter - with two successful drifts under her belt. That was two more than he had.

"We were still connected, as you know." Her voice was small. "I felt him go unconscious, and then that brutal cut when everything shut off - when he died. I was in a coma for two days, or so I am told," Jemma replied softly.

"From the neural damage or the physical damage from the burns?" Ward asked.

"Both, I suppose."

"And the experiment?"

"Marshal Coulson consulted with Dr. Lightcap and the pilots there - May, Stacker Pentecost, the brothers Herc and Scott Hansen. They decided that this part of the project would stop, and research would be redirected elsewhere." She became quiet. "Most of the energy now has been focused on figuring out the enemy - the kaiju themselves - rather than the neural link."

He was silent for a moment. "Perhaps it's for the best," he said softly.

She smiled sadly. "I'm inclined to agree."

The talk seemed to exhuast her, and she lay her head back against the pillow, her eyes closed. There were tears on her lashes.

| P R |

When Skye came by two hours later, looking for Ward, she found them both asleep in her room. He was sitting in the chair, pulled up next to her bed, her hand wrapped tightly in his.

* * *

Skye waited two days and then resumed pilot candidate trials again. This time, there was little enthusiasm for them from him or from the other candidates. By now the news had traveled extensively, and what had been a fairly private drift test had become watercooler news and embellished terribly. Ward could feel all eyes on him as he passed.

At least, he thought, their affection for Jemma Simmons hadn't diminished. Her room was flooded with flowers and stuffed animals and all kinds of treats, from English ones to Peruvian ones to doggie treats for Duffle. For her first dinner back in the mess hall, they made her a cake.

Tired after the third day of trials, Ward finally took the stairs up through the structure and appeared up on the roof, outside. It was bright, sunny - the sun was hot, even as it was setting. Across the rooftop he noticed the royal blue umbrella. It was the silent watcher from his first day in Lima.

Without thinking, he left his feet carry him across the rooftop. The figure turned when he approached, and he stopped suddenly.

Jemma Simmons.

| P R |

"Jemma has been asking me about Ward's compatibility tests," May began nonchalantly.

Coulson looked up at that. May stood in the doorway, simply looking at him. There was no condemnation in her voice - just a statement. "Oh?"

"She's taken an interest - the first time she's taken an interest in any drift compabitility test since the fire. She got all the records from Skye and looked everything through."

"And?"

"She lists eight major points of identification on his neurological profile which help explain why he's been so incomptible on a team."

Coulson sighed, then. "May, let's just get to the point. You still believe she's the best choice as Ward's copilot."

"I do."

"You know what she's gone through. You saw her in that conn-pod simulator. You know she can't handle it. We should never even have let her go in to drift with Ward the FIRST time."

"If you never wanted her to attempt to drift again, then why did you leave her pilot profile in with the others after the accident?" May challenged. Coulson fell silent. "We set up profiles for her and for Fitz before their first drift. After he died in that third drift, you removed his profile. Wouldn't even let it be used for simulations. But Jemma's you left in the pool - of potential PILOTS, Phil. You changed the name to hide her drift profile, but YOU LEFT IT IN THERE."

Coulson was silent.

"You know she has something special - that ability to settle others. Most people bring bad memories and anger and fear into the drift, but she brings in a great deal of stability and compassion. She has the ability to help others through their memories. You know she's a good match for somebody as damaged as Ward."

"We tried it," he snapped. "Look at what happened to her!"

There was a long silence, and then she came to sit down in front of his desk. "I believe she needs to try again."

"Melinda, she's not you. She can't compartmentalize and step back into the field."

"Jemma will never be the same. We all know that. We took her away from Hong Kong to help her adjust. You've let me continue to work with her, not just to train her physically but to give her a physical outlet to steady herself, to refocus herself. And you know she learns so quickly - she's been applying herself to this phsycial training like she used to for her science studies. She has to re-enter the real world at some time," May argued.

"This is too soon. And that drift with Ward proved it!"

"What that drift with Ward showed me is that she has somebody to support her when the drift goes badly," May replied shortly. "And you saw how she reacted to him whenever he came to see in her medical."

Coulson was quiet, and the two sat in silence for several moments.

"Do you remember what you said to me after Bahrain?" she asked, her voice soft, almost inaudible.

He pressed his lips into a thin line, letting his gaze fall from hers to his desktop. "Yeah."

"Then let Jemma do the same."

| P R |

She held up the umbrella so he could sit under it, too.

"It's not raining," he said in an amused voice.

"Oh." She smiled, then blushed. "I burn easily." She blushed, suddenly, remembering what memory and what physical damage he had seen less than a week ago, and changed her word choice. "I SUNburn easily."

He smiled. He could see that happening.

They sat in a very comfortable silence, watching the sun set over the water of the Pacific. It was a long time before he spoke.

"I just want to know," he said quietly. "I have nothing to compare. Our drift - "

She smiled at him sadly. "It was strong."

* * *

Skye ran Ward through more candidates. They did more computer simulations. After two more weeks of this going back and forth, Skye simply picked Antoine Triplett, and Coulson reluctantly approved.

Ward knew it wasn't going to work even before he was put back in his drivesuit. He had done all the compatibility tests with Triplett - twice. The man was easygoing enough. They were trained similarly enough. They just weren't MATCHED enough.

"Just to warn you, I have some childhood baggage," he said without looking up as he readjusted the cuff of his glove.

"I know."

He turned instantly, looking across the conn-pod. That voice was not Triplett's. That diminutive figure was not Triplett.

"Does Coulson know about this?" His voice was sharp.

"No," Jemma said softly.

"Then - "

Triplett's voice came over the LOCCENT system, interrupting him. "I believe Dr. Simmons should have some choice in the matter."

"I swear, Trip," Grant growled, "if - "

"I agree with Trip," was Skye's voice, interrupting. "We - "

He shut off the sound system, interrupting Skye. Now that they were alone, he turned back to the scientist. "I don't believe this is a good idea."

"There are a great many bad ideas," she said quietly. "One is sharing a mind with another person in order to run a mechanical fighter to ward off alien invaders." Her voice was quiet but firm. "But yet, we do them anyhow; we do what we need to do, not what we want to do."

He was silent for a long time. "I don't want you hurt again."

She smiled then, looking forward through the conn-pod to the LOCCENT headquarters. She gave them a wave to start the process. "I know."

"Jemma - "

She turned to look at him now, her eyes placid and warm. "Trust me?"

| P R |

"Better hurry," Triplett said to the LOCCENT head. "Before the ever-seeing Coulson gets a wind of this."

"Here goes nothing," Skye muttered, then flipped the switch to start the connection.

* * *

Coulson was working in his office, pouring over the paperwork and the appeals letters to the UN for the construction of the Lima Shatterdome, and for recommendations for shatterdomes in Australia and Russia. He noticed the hallways were somewhat quiet, but then he HAD located his office this quieter hallway for a reason.

There were a few sounds of groups of people hurrying by. He ignored them. He had to get in this report. Hopefully Pentecost and Lightcap would have some pilot pairings to send out to him when the Mark-2s were finished.

The door suddenly burst open, without even a knock. May didn't even wait for him to look up. "They're trying again," was all she said as she joined the group running towards the hangar bay's conn-pod simulator.

| P R |

He raced into LOCCENT, to find May already there with the entire LOCCENT staff gathered, even the two LOCCENT teams off-duty. Triplett saw him first and held up his hands. "Before you get mad," he said, "Dr. Simmons asked to try again. And even in that first drift gone bad, you know their compatability was off the charts."

Coulson only glared distrustfully at the other man, muscling his way past him to look over Skye's shoulder. She took one look at him and shut her mouth. He grabbed the microphone, about to order the shutdown, when he felt May moving towards him. He turned to look at her. She said and did nothing, but he could tell what she was thinking.

He stepped back.

| P R |

Ward could feel the connection, much as he had a few days ago. He felt the same thing settle over him as they connected: warmth and bravery and compassion and steel and all of those things together he'd learned to associate with Jemma Simmons in a few short weeks.

He considered how he was going to help her. He didn't know if he could be as strong as she was - strong enough to color her memories as she did his. He didn't want to abandon her, or for her to forget Fitz, either. With little time left, he mentally reached a hand out to her.

_I'll catch you if you fall._

At her response, he almost took a physical step back. Hurt, comfort, pain, relief. Hope. Hope, in waves.

"Gemini," came Skye's voice into the conn-pod. "Handshake holding and strong."

Good sign, Ward thought.

Then, Skye's voice again. "Let's start with some basics. Give us a fighting stance." Both pilots slipped into one effortlessly. Then: "Jump and landing." That done, she radioed, "Boxing punch."

Ward continued to breathe in a slow, steady, deliberate pace, as if the request were like any other, and not a RABIT for one of his co-pilot's worst memories. Together, he and Simmons decided to pretend a blow was coming from the upper right, and lifted their right arms to block the shot before using the left to hit a punch to the torso. Smoothly executed.

He couldn't help a smile. In the drift, he saw her smiling, too.

Without warning, the conn-pod suddenly lit up. Skye had turned on the computer simulation.

| P R |

Coulson pulled his gaze from the conn-pod in front of him to the large monitors in the LOCCENT, tuned to the simulation.

"Simulating drop," Skye announced to the silent control center. She checked her control center readings as Ward flipped the switch, disengaging the simulation jaeger from the Sikorsky helicopter transport. The LOCCENT tech turned to the screens where the others were watching. On-screen, the simulation jaeger dropped straight into the ocean with a loud splash. The four standing in LOCCENT flinched, as if water were actually spraying. The jaeger straightened gracefully, almost like a dancer.

May and Coulson exchanged looks.

On-screen, there was a clang as the jaeger began to walk, piloted by its two rangers. The stride was smooth, even. The robot's arms even gently swung as it walked, almost as if loping along in a natural walk.

"D-ng," Trip breathed from his spot next to Skye, his eyes bright in admiration.

| P R |

The simulation ended a lot faster than Ward was expecting. He hadn't expected to kill the kaiju that quickly - not that he was complaining. For a moment, he and Simmons just stood there, stunned, as if almost afraid of believing that they had succeeded.

For some reason, the conn-pod simulator continued to blink "Simulation over" at them. There was no move from LOCCENT to ease them out of their neural handshake or to turn anything off.

Ward looked over at Simmons, who nodded. He pushed the communications button. All they could hear was screaming and cheering and what sounded like jumping up and down, given the sound of the thuds. "Um, Skye?"

"Ranger Ward and Dr. Simmons, I want to see you in my office." It was Coulson's voice.

Crap.

* * *

The rest of the day was a whirlwind. After lots of yelling from Coulson, and then May giving orders and a new schedule for training, and then Skye forcing them to start filling out the paperwork, Ward was restless and irritated. Jemma had somehow escaped after getting measured for a new drive suit, and then he hadn't seen her for the rest of the day. How had she managed to evade everybody when he couldn't?

It was already afternoon when he finally got some time to himself. He found her sitting on a corner of the scaffolding overlooking the jaeger bay, quietly out of the way of the technicians. He sat down next to her, bumping up against her deliberately. His entire body seemed to relax once they were in contact.

"Ghost drift," she replied to his unspoken thought. "It's quite real." She was quiet. "Sometimes I think I hear him speaking."

Ward did not need to ask who 'he' was.

"You were very close," he said quietly.

"He was my best friend," she replied. "Like having a twin brother. He was always trying to pull me back and make sure I didn't do something silly."

"Like try to drift again after a bad first test?" he asked mildly.

She smiled at that, turning her face to him, looking at him for a long time before saying, "But I am glad I have done."

"So am I."

They looked out towards the first of the two South American jaegers. "Chile and Peru are increasing the amount of money flow so we can hire more engineers to finish," she said softly. "Seems they have some motivation now since the Lima Shatterdome is a real possibility."

"Skye said Coulson sent in our drift results as evidence of 'already prepared' pilots he'd like to keep this side of the Pacific," Ward replied. "Threatened to send us back to Hong Kong if the jaegers weren't put on a fast track and the shatterdome approved."

When she stiffened, he winced. He had not meant to bring that up. He squeezed her hand. "I don't believe he'll actually send us back there." Too much loss for her, he thought. Her parents. Fitz's mother. Fitz.

He would have liked to meet Fitz. For real. Not just in Jemma's memories.

"This will be a long war," she said, finally.

"Yes."

* * *

Skye dropped the list in front of Coulson with a big grin.

"What's this?"

"Names," Skye replied with a straight face. "Since the nations always take so long to come up with names, we did."

Coulson looked at her suspiciously, then looked down at the list. "Are you trying to cause an international incident?!"

"Your jaeger's called Tango Tasmania!" Skye retorted. "There's no way these are worse." At Coulson's glare, she admitted, "It may have been pretty late and we might have been a little tipsy celebrating Ward and Simmons' successful drift."

"A LITTLE tipsy?" Coulson gave her a look, then looked back down at the list for a closer examination. "'Graye Chinchilla'?" The marshal read the first name off the list to make his point.

"The only wild chinchillas today are in Peru and Chile," Skye retorted as if the name were quite reasonable. "It would be a perfect homage to them."

"Doubt they'd see it that way," Coulson muttered in disagreement, before raising his voice back to normal levels. "And why the h-ll is 'gray' spelled like that?"

"England and US couldn't agree," Skye huffed. "Simmons and Ward argued for ten minutes over whether to use 'a' or 'e'. So I compromised. If you don't like it, there's another one on there."

"'Brr, This Wind is: Chile.'" Coulson gave her a look.

Skye beamed.

"United States: 'Walmart Rollback'. Canada: 'Oh, Sorry, Sorry.'" he glared.

"Two words: Justin Bieber," Skye retorted. "I've never actually given birth to a child, but I suspect that going to a Justin Bieber concert with a child is close."

"United Kingdom: 'Tea-minator'." The marshal did not look amused.

"Trip came up with that one. I like it. You're lucky Ward already vetoed 'Benedict Cumber-bash'. Said he was not going to step into a jaeger with that name."

"'Vege-Might: Australia'. Don't believe the Hansens will go for that one."

"Herc wouldn't, but Scott would!"

"'Millennium Falcon'? Our jaegers don't fly, Skye."

"Han Solo would have been an awesome jaeger pilot," Skye insisted. "And he'd actually mean it literally when he said, 'Punch it, Chewie!' about the kaiju." When Coulson gave her that look, she said, horrified, "You HAVE seen 'Star Wars', right?"

Coulson gave her a look of supreme irritation, then looked back at the list. "'Michael: Jordan'. 'Made in: China'. 'I'm Ready: Togo.' Seriously?"

"Ward came up with those," Skye replied with half-glee, half-groan. "He really likes puns."

Coulson frowned. "'I Saw Monsters And: Iran.' Are you trying to get us in trouble?"

Skye shrugged. "They already hate us," she pointed out. "Although," she said thoughtfully after a moment's consideration, "that might be a bad name for a kaiju-fighting jaeger."

"'Killed All These Kaiju, Gonna Kill: Samoa.'" Coulson pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Simmons came up with that one. Ward declared her 'pun-believable' after that."

Coulson handed the list back. "Find something else for them to do."

"Well, they're already going through May's boot camp a couple hours a day. Battleship is boring because now they almost always anticipate each other's moves. Scrabble ended in a really loud argument over the word D-E-F-E-N-S or C-E. It was heard by the whole jaeger bay because apparently the acoustics are not bad. And now as a joke the techs are changing all the 's's on all the signs to 'c' and vice versa, so we're having 'sorn and potatoec' for dinner tonight. And Ward has played so much Xbox in the last three weeks his eyes are crossing. What do you suggest?"

"I don't know, find something - productive! Something that wouldn't make the kaiju laugh at us."

"You know, making them laugh to death is a strategy we haven't considered yet."

Coulson shoved the file at her.

* * *

The next morning, after their practice together, Simmons disappeared. It didn't bother Ward. He and Trip played Xbox a little, and then he walked the man up the stairs to the helicopter transport. The man was taking a flight to Kodiak today, having stayed many days past originally planned in order to help find Ward a drift partner.

The newly-matched pilot stuck out his hand to Trip. He wasn't sure how to thank the other man. Trip just grinned and shook his hand, nodded, and bounded onto the helicopter. Ward watched until the helicopter was out of sight, then headed back into the building.

Coulson and May were both missing, so he fielded a phone call from Felix Blake: Chile and Peru had decided on names for their Mark-2 jaegers. Not so surprisingly, the names they had come up with on a whim were not on the list. Ward looked at the slip of paper in his hand. Chile and Peru - respectively, Diablo Intercept and Solar Prophet.

For a brief moment, he let himself indulge the thought of getting to pilot one of them.

He went looking for Coulson and May and couldn't find them. When he couldn't find - or hear - Skye, either, Ward became concerned.

A technician directed him to LOCCENT.

Simmons was pacing, alternately tapping her elbow worriedly and shooting looks at the big screen. She smiled, though, when he entered. He leaned over, holding up the post-it note so she could see it. Her eyes lit up, looking at him with a hopeful question. "Chile," he whispered, pointing at 'Diablo Intercept', "and Peru." His finger moved down to 'Solar Prophet'.

"Will one be ours?" she asked, her voice low, her eyes shining with excitement.

He just grinned. He didn't know. He then nodded towards the simulator. "Who's in there?"

Simmons looked as if she might try to redirect him, then just opted not to say anything at all. He looked again, then noticed the feed was not coming from the simulator.

It was from Tango Tasmania.

"How do those response times look?" Skye asked, scooting her chair across the floor.

Simmons quickly peered at her set of monitors. "They're doing all right."

"Those drift numbers are good," Ward said thoughtfully. "I didn't know there was another pilot pair here."

"Jealous?" Skye grinned.

"Curious," Ward replied. "Didn't know they were attempting to keep anybody here besides us. Thought they were sending successful ranger pairs to Hong Kong."

"Not this one," Skye replied, leaning into her microphone. "Tango Tasmania, you're lining up nicely."

"Initiating reactor test," came May's voice over the intercom.

Ward raised his eyebrow. "Who's in there with her?" he asked.

"Take a guess," Skye replied.

Ward looked at Simmons, who raised an eyebrow. "Coulson," Ward guessed suddenly and turned to look at Skye. "Coulson is her drift partner."

"Got it in one."

"Vitals holding," Simmons replied, looking at her monitoring screens.

"Commencing weapons check," May radioed. Lights flicked on, signaling input from the pilot on the right.

"May is on the right side of the jaeger," Ward guessed. "That's why she's commencing most tests." Right was the dominant pilot.

"May was a specialist at SHIELD," Simmons replied. "She is the better fighter."

There was a slight hiss of pain over the intercom, which made Simmons frown. May's shoulder, Ward guessed.

"Still, don't let Coulson's boy-next-door look fool you," Skye shrugged as she sat back. "He crashed Tango almost singlehandedly."

Ward frowned. "Singlehandedly?"

Skye looked at Simmons. "It was Himantura," the scientist explained, naming the monster for the battle in question. "That kaiju not only managed to get around to the west side of the Philippines, he made it INTO Manila Bay. Balanga, Quezon City, Bacoor City, of course Manila were all threatened. Despite warnings, people refused to go to the shelters."

"So May and Coulson tried to move around them," Ward replied, his tone one of impatience. Of course people wouldn't heed the $^! warnings. And of course May and Coulson would do all they could to minimize damage. "No doubt hampering what they could do in battle."

Simmons nodded. "The fight took more time and more energy than it should have had Tango Tasmania been allowed full range."

She thought for a moment. "Himantura was flat like a stingray. It surprised them and just wrapped itself around Tango. It clawed into the right side of the conpod, tore May down her back and ripped off the entire right side of her neural equipment, leaving just her left arm and part of her left leg still attached to Coulson and to the jaeger. Despite that, she and Coulson held down Himantura, wounded it fatally.

"By the time the Hansen brothers arrived in Lucky Seven, Tango Tasmania was on fire. Seven dragged the dying Himantura out of the bay into the West Philippine Sea as Coulson - and whatever part of May which was still connected to him and to the jaeger - crashed Tango into Manila."

"Kill went to Tango," Skye finished.

"May's compatible with most everybody, but even she has people she's more comptaible with," Ward murmured, recalling Skye's words. "I remember that one. It was Lucky Seven's first deployment." Realization dawned. "May and Coulson aren't just the rangers. They're the first batch of rangers."

"And the oldest. Their handshake is not as strong any more," Simmons replied, her eyes searching over the scans.

"Seem fine to me," Ward said after watching them for a moment.

"The incident with Himantura did not leave Marshal Coulson unscarred," Simmons replied. "His neural handshake levels require more effort on his part, now. And given both of their advancing ages, their ability to hold the neural connection is fading already."

"I didn't read the age thing in the manual," Ward muttered.

"That's because it's still a theory," Simmons replied. "But Fitz and I had noticed quite early that advancing age can damage one's ability to maintain a neural handshake. Caitlin is still working on testing it."

Ward noticed how offhand her comment had been about Fitz, the first he'd heard her make since his arrival in Lima. He was glad she could mention him in passing like that; still, not wanting to draw attention to it and thus making her self-conscious, he focused on the conversation at hand. "That's why you're here," he said to Simmons, understanding. "To help monitor their connection."

"Coming to Lima was the best move for us all," Simmons replied quietly. He discreetly brushed the small of her back with his hand, and she smiled at him.

"That's why Coulson was so hell-bent on getting you a partner," Skye said to Ward with a grin, her eyes still glued to her monitors. "He knows his limitations. And he knows a good pilot when he sees one."

And Coulson was also why he had been so adamantly against Simmons entering the conn-pod, Ward thought. He knew what it meant to go through a torn neural connection.

* * *

The kaiju alarm was disorienting. Ward had known what it sounded like, but never had heard one in combat. He'd been trained for it endlessly, but still -

ringing it now meant something was wrong.

He threw off his covers, running towards the door even as he buttoned his shirt. In the hallway, he could see Simmons in her doorway. Technicians were running full-tilt towards the cargo bay.

"We got a Category 3, Code name Hammerjaw," Skye was shouting as he and Simmons burst into LOCCENT.

"How did we not hear about this earlier?!"

"Hong Kong was monitoring the breach, thought the bastard was headed west from the breach, like all the others," Skye replied. "Like all kaiju, he's hard to keep on the radar. When they couldn't find him where they expected him to surface, they looked east of the breach."

"At least there's good distance between us and the breach," Ward muttered. They could buy time with the distance from the breach to Lima.

"Where are Coulson and May?" Simmons asked, worried.

Skye nodded towards the jaeger. Tango Tasmania was gearing up. "Pod drop in ten minutes!" she shouted into the microphone, her voice booming over the rest of cargo bay.

"It's a Category 3-sized kaiju," Ward said quietly. "And they're in a Mark-1 with no back-up." And May was still injured.

"Hong Kong's already sending help," Skye said.

Simmons said nothing, but Ward could see that she was just as tense as he was. "We all know it's not going to get here fast enough," he replied stonily. "Our jaegers still don't move that quickly."

"Then let's hope they know what they're doing," Skye replied.

| P R |

The LOCCENT at Lima was abuzz, moving at a tensely nervous speed. He could heard the crunch of metal as the conn-pod dropped and locked into the rest of Tango's body. He could hear the Sikorskys, lifting the jaeger through the retracting roof.

"If that kaiju gets to shore, we're screwed," somebody on his left mumbled. They would all be crushed in just one step.

"Neural handshake holding," Simmons murmured. "And strong."

"LOCCENT, give us some coordinates, here?" Coulson's voice, crackling over the conn-pod communication system.

"Coming from the northwest. About 3 degrees north and 100 west but moving fast. If he stays on his current path he'll go right by Isabella and the Galapagos Islands."

"If we can engage there hopefully we'll keep him from reaching shore." May's voice.

"Hong Kong is deploying Tacit Ronin and Romeo Blue," Skye radioed.

"How long?" Ward and Simmons asked, together, looking straight at Skye.

"Couple hours." The LOCCENT J-tech winced.

"Tango Tasmania doesn't have a couple hours," Ward intoned.


	4. Chapter 4

**Monsters of Our Own**  
by Sammie

Disclaimer, summary, main author's notes in part 1.

**THANK YOU** to everybody who has read and reviewed. Here's the last two parts now - to make up for the long wait before.

* * *

FROM PART 3:  
_The alarm was disorienting. Ward had known what it sounded like, but never had heard one in combat. He'd been trained for it endlessly, but still - _

_ringing it now meant something was wrong. _

_"We got a Category 3, code name Hammerjaw," Skye was shouting as he and Simmons burst into LOCCENT. _

_Tango Tazmania was gearing up. "Pod drop in ten minutes!" she shouted into the microphone, her voice booming over the rest of cargo bay. _

_"It's a category 3-sized kaiju," Ward said quietly. "And they're in a Mark-1 with no back-up." _

_"Hong Kong's already sending help," Skye said. "Hong Kong is deploying Tacit Ronin and Romeo Blue." _

_"How long?" Ward and Simmons asked, together, looking straight at Skye. _

_"Couple hours." The LOCCENT J-tech winced._

* * *

Tango Tazmania was dropped offshore of Lima. It hit the water, landing neatly on its feet, and straightened up. It then started its march along the coastline, the Sikorskys following along as they could. In the next room, televisions tuned to the major national news channels were blaring warnings. The phones rang off the hook.

"We've got people pounding on the doors outside, Skye," a breathless technician reported as he ran into LOCCENT. "They want in."

"This is not a Shatterdome!" Skye shouted. "This is the first thing that'll get destroyed if that kaiju has got any brains. We've got four unfinished Mark-2s in here. Keep them out!"

There was a quiet clearing of the throat from somebody next to Ward. "Skye - it's the president of Peru. He wants to speak to the marshal."

"You've got to be kidding me," Skye exclaimed. "Did you tell him Coulson's a little busy?"

"He says he'll stay on hold," the technician replied.

"Leave him on hold," Simmons replied, her voice firm. She pulled the technician with her out of the room. Ward watched briefly as she disappeared into the next room. They returned a few minutes later, and Simmons sat a new female technician down near the phones and whispered some directions. She came over. "How are we doing?"

"No visual yet," Skye replied tensely. "And Tango Tasmania hasn't picked up the kaiju on their radar."

"So we still have time to hope it was a false alarm," Simmons murmured.

There was a ring. Behind them, the new technician Simmons had brought answered the phone. "Lima PPDC. ... No, I'm afraid he's a bit busy at the moment. ... Hello, Mr. President. Well, we're trying, here. ... We're doing the best we can, sir. ... Why don't we avoid the Galapagos? Why don't I patch you through to the d-mn kaiju and you can have this discussion with it!"

Ward and Skye looked surprised, then turned to Simmons with raised eyebrows. She just shrugged.

| P R |

"We got it on radar," Coulson's voice came over. "Moving to engage, fifteen miles off-shore."

"Stay out of that ten-mile radius, sir," Simmons radioed. "As best you can."

"Can we get readings on it from Tango's cameras?" Ward asked. "Let us see what's going on?"

There was a sudden loud crash that made the entire LOCCENT jump, and then a splash.

The TV screens scrambled, then turned over to the feed from the jaeger's body cameras.

"He's huge," Skye gasped as they stared at the screens. "They weren't kidding that he's a cat-3!"

Ward winced as the kaiju rose out of the water, its tail flicking hard and giving it almost the push of a fish going upstream. It slammed into the jaeger, both toppling into the water, the pincer on the enormous tail disappearing into the waves like a hand waving - mocking.

He could hear May and Coulson yelling, and then, dimly, angry cries from the kaiju itself. There were hard blows: the jaeger had a death grip on the kaiju, and the punches and kicks to the beast's torso were punishing.

The kaiju managed to peel itself off of the jaeger. The machine reared back, its hand balling into a fist and its elbow coming back before slamming into the jaw.

Alarms went off. They could all see on screen as the jaeger stumbled backward, the fingers on its right hand crushed into a different shape, the elbow out of joint.

"Oh, no," Simmons murmured. "May." It had been May's right arm which was separated.

Skye was scrambling to get the readings. "Right arm disabled - no readings from the fingers. Elbow and shoulder loosened. All weapons systems in right arm offline. What the h-ll happened?"

"He's not Hammerjaw for nothing," came Coulson's voice, and despite the light words, his tone was tense. "We're all right."

They were not. The right arm had been Tango Tasmania's main weapon, carrying both missile strikes that shot from under its wrist and benefiting from its right-handed pilots' penchant for fist-fighting. A disabled jaeger right arm disabled the pilots'.

Hammerjaw swam forward, then charged head first towards the jaeger, again slamming it into the water. The jaeger punched with the left hand, using the disabled right to hug the kaiju to itself and prevent it from getting away. The two combatants went under again. There was a loud pop, the pincer-tail of the kaiju flicking around the back to slam into the jaeger from the back, drilling through the metal.

It was heart-stopping, hearing May and Coulson scream.

"We got water seeping into the conn-pod!" Skye shouted. She pointed at one of the technicians. "Get me Pentecost on the line - I need an ETA for those two other jaegers!"

Ward and Simmons looked at each other.

| P R |

The scientist was murmuring to herself the entire time the technicians loaded them into the just-finished drivesuits, all of them looking at the two pilots with barely concealed worry and doubt. The elevator trip to the conn-pod was silent.

He stepped into the cockpit first, crossing over to his side. She followed. Technicians strapped them into the shoulder and the shoe harnesses.

"What the #$%^ h-ll!" Skye's voice was shouting over the line. "Are you two #$ ^* insane!"

"Please connect us." Simmons' voice was calm. He could tell she was tense, but she remained fully in command of herself. "Then we need power to just the essentials."

"Coulson's going to kill me!"

"Let's get Coulson back before we worry about him killing anybody," Ward replied.

"Initiating pilot-to-pilot neural interface," Skye said, and however she felt about it, she connected them.

Ward closed his eyes as they both slipped into the drift. It was less jarring each time they did this; now, it was almost becoming old hat. Almost.

Once connected completely to Simmons, he opened his eyes.

The rest of the connection went quickly. "Neural handshake at 100%," Skye reported. "Powering up Diablo Intercept."

In designing the first of the Mark-2s, the jaeger designers had decided to try something different. Instead of one large nuclear reactor powering the gigantic fighter, Diablo Intercept had three very small modular reactors. The idea was that one reactor going bad could be safely shut down while the other two still powered the jaeger, allowing it to stay in the field.

Of course, it also meant they could try to take the unfinished jaeger into the field, operating on less than full capacity. Ward was sure that, if they knew what he and Simmons were about to do, the engineers would have a heart attack and complain about how this was not the purpose for the original design. "Skye, how many of the reactors are actually functional?" he asked.

There was a long silence at the other end, and then Skye's voice. "Um. One."

Great. Just great.

Simmons spoke, still in that tight but calm tone. "Reroute the power from the working reactor straight to the jaeger. Bypass all reserves."

Ward tensed. That was riskier, but it was their only option. If they ran Diablo normally, they would drain the batteries before the reactor, even running at full power, could recharge them. And they had to do the reroute now, with the technician crews doing it. It would be far too dangerous to do in the heat of battle.

"That's dangerous," Skye said, leaning forward to look at the jaeger through the LOCCENT windows.

"Battery takes too long to charge," Ward replied shortly. "We'll have to hope to take out Hammerjaw in time."

"And you're not going to be operating at full-capacity, even with the reroute," Skye warned. "They only have the one small reactor going; the other two aren't even finished yet."

"Just assure us that the other two will not melt down on us," Simmons replied.

"Certainly won't. Those reactors haven't even been loaded into Diablo's chest."

"Every cloud has a silver lining," Ward muttered.

Skye quickly swiped at her screens, bringing up a power monitor and quickly tapping in some numbers. "You watch this," she said, looking at the technician next to her. "Anything over that mark" she pointed at a number marked in red "is no good. After that mark, the jaeger is using too much power and the reactor will overheat."

The technician nodded.

"All right, Diablo." Skye turned to scan the other monitors quickly. "Tell us what you want."

"Give us the retractable fangblades under the wrists," Simmons said slowly. Ward could see in her head the long list of Diablo's weapons - she loved preparation, indeed.

"OK on the fangblades."

"How about the circular saw?" Ward asked, scrolling himself through Simmons' mental list. "Can we get that, too?"

"OK on the circular saw," Skye replied. "You're good on power."

"We want the electric arcs from the fists," Simmons continued.

"That's going to put you over the limit on power."

Simmons pursed her lips. "Shoulder missiles?"

"Over. By a lot."

They had the same thought. Without either, they'd be going in blind.

"The battery. It's been charging for a few days," Ward said slowly. "It's got roughly a quarter charge. Why can't we transfer the power now to the Tesla cells in the fists - before we shut it down?"

There was a long silence.

"Skye?" Simmons asked, her voice hopeful.

| P R |

Skye glanced over at the technicians. "Can we bleed the battery into the cells in the hand now? Do we have a procedure for that?"

"You're going to lose a lot of power if you transfer now," said one technician, leaning into the microphone. "The Tesla cells aren't designed to store the energy for very long, like the batteries. But if you only power up the batteries to do the transfer when you're in the water, it might short out."

"But we just need enough for the electric arcs," Ward replied, his voice crackling over the line. "And we don't need it store it for days, just an hour at most. Why can't we do that?"

"Get me a procedure!" Skye shouted, even as LOCCENT technicians ran out of the control center at full tilt. "I want it step by step when Diablo is in place!"

| P R |

Bracing its damaged right arm against the bottom of the kaiju's jaw, Tango Tasmania slammed its left fist into the kaiju's side repeatedly. Each blow made the kaiju recoil. On the fourth, the kaiju's tail came around, lashing against the left arm, yanking the jaeger towards the water. Tango held on with the right arm, refusing to let go.

The tail lashed outward, ripping the left arm off. Both pilots screamed, temporarily stunned. They came to, gasping, pulling back the already-damaged right arm - the only remaining one.

"How much longer for ETA?" Coulson radioed when they came to.

"Um, five minutes!" Skye sounded distracted.

"Five minutes," May said, frowning in confusion as she looked towards her left at Coulson.

"Five minutes?" Coulson radioed. "Who's coming?"

"Aw, h-ll," May muttered as she looked up at the conn-pod screen.

| P R |

Ward scanned the radar. "There. Hammerjaw's there." He pointed, unnecessarily. They both could see the same blips on the radar - the one moving swiftly through the water, and the heavier Mark-1 jaeger lumbering towards it.

"Tango Tasmania, wounded right arm, left arm gone entirely," Skye radioed. "I don't know how much help they're going to be. And we got a procedure - we've started the transfer from the battery to the Tesla cells."

Ward switched on the night vision. "How do we get its attention?" he murmured to his copilot.

Simmons grinned, pulling a lever quickly. Above them, their beacon flashed on and off like a driver signaling with his high-beams. Light seeped into the conn-pod with each brief flicker.

"We good on power, Skye?" Ward radioed.

"Good!" There was a shuffle, then, "I have been very loudly instructed by Marshal Coulson to tell you, and I quote, 'I swear, if Ward and Simmons are in that bleep-bleep-bleepity-bleep jaeger, I will kill them when they return. They won't need to wait for the kaiju.'"

There was a silence in the conn-pod.

"I know you know what I'm thinking," Ward said in a deadpan tone.

"'How much power do we need to get to Hong Kong?'" Simmons replied, her laugh both desperate and amused.

"All right." Ward gritted his teeth. "Here we go."

| P R |

At the flashing of the lights, the kaiju instantly turned, heading ninety degrees in the opposite direction, away from the damaged jaeger. It paused, then swam straight for the newcomer standing between it and the coastline.

"No punches to the face," Ward instructed.

Simmons nodded.

The first blow Ward was not expecting: a direct body slam as Hammerjaw almost leapt out of the water, like a lion pouncing, and slammed into the jaeger. He staggered, as did Simmons, taking two full-steps back and nearly falling before twisting to the side, letting the kaiju slide off its front torso into the water.

They saw the tail, with the pincer, waving in the water, and instinctively switched on the circular saw. Hammerjaw came at them again. They ducked and the jaeger did as well; they could feel the kaiju slide horizontally across their - Diablo's - back. They lifted their left arms, and Diablo raised its left arm, the circular saw already spinning at a high speed.

One quick slice from right to left detached the tail and pincer even as the beast slid into the water.

Neither pilot could hear the cheering in LOCCENT, or the sighs of relief from the pilots in the disabled Tango Tasmania.

The enraged beast came around at them, hard, screeching as it jumped out at them. They caught it by giving way, sliding effortlessly several hundred feet, the kaiju on top of the jaeger, before pushing back enough to slam a fist into the lower body. Diablo Intercept started punching, hard, blows raining down on the kaiju's torso from the right fist as the left one caught the neck in a chokehold.

Suddenly Hammerjaw slammed its head downward, its jaw cracking hard against the left fist of the jaeger. Simmons cried out, Ward wincing from the same pain as the jaeger's left hand was crushed. They managed one more punch to the torso before letting go.

There was a sudden spark, back in Ward's mind, and he looked over to see Simmons' teeth set in determination. She hit the button rather hard, and the jaeger shot out retractable fangblades, not unlike Tacit Ronin's, from above its wrists.

"Surgical," she said, but he knew.

"We don't have a whole lot of power for multiple cracks at this," Ward reminded her.

She nodded. When Hammerjaw came back, he flew straight at the head of the jaeger, straight for the conn-pod. Diablo ducked quickly.

They quickly spun to the left, Ward swearing a little as the jaeger lagged a bit behind. The kaiju was already getting up, coming for another round, when Diablo slammed its right fist straight into the kaiju's chest. There was screaming from the beast - and from both pilots, struggling to keep the right fangblade buried in the animal.

Hammerjaw slammed its jaw down on top of the conn-pod, pounding it hard. Both pilots were flung hard in the opposite direction, but the hydraulics holding their feet and shoulders in place held, and they only weaved in the suspension. It was enough to dislodge the fangblade slightly, and Ward saw quickly that if they didn't pull out, the jaeger would dislocate its shoulder. Diablo whipped its right arm out. The kaiju pulled back, preparing for another strike.

This time, Hammerjaw came straight at them. Inside, Ward and Simmons carefully took a defensive stance, cushioning the blow of the kaiju against the jaeger.

The kaiju had opened its mouth, screeching as it flew forward. The pilots took the opportunity, aiming straight for the roof of the open mouth. With surgical precision, the left fangblade sliced through and impaled the roof of the monster's mouth on its blade. Hammerjaw screamed and started clamping its jaw shut, trying to smash the already disabled left hand.

Simmons took a second to get a good look at Hammerjaw; he saw in the drift where she was aiming. Together, they thrust forward with the right arm, slamming the right fangblade into the kaiju's torso, and then turned it ninety degrees, getting a good cut. Then, ever so slowly, Diablo opened its right fist and reached into the kaiju.

| P R |

May stiffened, watching Tango Tasmania's camera feed on the conn-pod screen. She looked over at Coulson, who just stared at the monitor.

| P R |

"Skye!" Simmons called. "Our power ready?"

"Those body blows broke the connection to the battery," Skye radioed back. "We got most of it to transfer to the cells, but you're a shade under what you need."

"The reactor?" Ward exclaimed, his impatient concern growing.

"Hull's cracked, reactor's going to overheat. You need to get out of there!"

The same thought occurred to both of them. Ward reached up and quickly punched in a command, disabling the power to his escape pod to free it for use. He was about to eject Simmons' escape pod when she hit the button shutting hers down.

She did not look at him or say anything. She did not need to. He had never lost anybody to the drift, much less somebody who had been like family. He was unwilling to lose her - but he knew the she felt the same with regards to him.

In silence, they flicked the switch, channeling the power to the Tesla cells from the now disabled escape pods.

"Make it good," was all he said.

With the right hand, they patted around the inside of the now writhing, screaming kaiju. The left arm was taking the full force of the weight of the thrashing beast, and their arms were getting tired, holding it up straight to keep the beast's head from slamming into the rest of the jaeger.

Suddenly, the fingers brushed something - Simmons' cry of triumph told him more than even the neural connection did.

The jaeger's right hand clenched around the correct organ, and Simmons flicked the switch. Electricity coursed through the jaeger's fist into the kaiju's heart.

The kaiju began to fight back, slamming its head even harder, trying to dislodge itself from the fangblade keeping its head tilted back. The stump of a tail wiggled in anger, but it was no longer of any danger to the Mark-2, which had already cut it off earlier in the fight.

Ward could feel Jemma gritting her teeth, could feel her tire a little; sheer grit and determination kept her going. They both kept their gaze fixed on the conn-pod screen in front, Diablo's right hand still clenched around the heart in a tight fist, electricity still coursing through its wires and into the cardiac muscles, trying to squeeze and to electrocute the life out of the attacker.

The body began to thrash as the kaiju went into its death throes. The jaeger was not lasting much longer, either. Warning bells started going off - the reactor beginning to overheat, power-down warnings blaring.

| P R |

In LOCCENT, every face was turned towards the screens. There was complete silence as everybody watched the blinking lights on the radar.

"Just a little longer," Skye murmured, her arms wrapped around herself, her right hand clenched tightly. "Little longer."

"Power-down failsafes have begun," whispered a technician. Nobody wanted to hear it.

| P R |

There was one final thrash, one final screech, and suddenly there was nothing - everything was suddenly still. There was a moment where both pilots stood, frozen, unwilling to believe that it was over.

"A little longer," Simmons gasped. She clenched her fist even harder, electricity still coursing through the jaeger's fist, and Ward followed suit.

The same, sudden stillness continued. Simmons looked over at Ward, stunned.

| P R |

Coulson and May watched as the life signal from the kaiju suddenly winked out on the screen. The former blinked in disbelieving hope. "Skye?"

"I believe it's down. No life signals." There was a pause on Skye's end, and then the two pilots could hear LOCCENT screaming and cheering.

| P R |

Simmons suddenly managed a smile, and Ward smiled, seeing her smile.

Suddenly, the jaeger sighed, and everything went dark.

There was a brief moment where Ward felt a huge flash behind his eyes, and then a sudden blow as his neural connection simply shut down, rather than slowly ebb away. He blinked and gasped and tried to shake it off. He then looked up. Hearing and seeing nothing, he panicked that Simmons wasn't there. "Jemma?"

"I'm here."

He couldn't stop a laugh of relief.

He could hear her detaching herself from her structure. "I believe we can climb up and get the door to the outside," she commented.

"Wait, Jemma, don't detach - "

The jaeger's arms came down - and suddenly the whole fighter began to pitch forward.

| P R |

"Bad," May muttered, her eyes glued her conn-pod screen. "Bad bad bad."

Coulson radioed, "Skye! What's going on?"

"I'm not getting any response," Skye radioed back. "Everything shut down. They drained the battery to the Tesla cells, and the reactor was going into shutdown. I believe they ran out of power."

"Not good," Coulson mumbled as he and May geared up, striding towards the pitching jaeger.

| P R |

Ward could barely get himself kept in the harness as the jaeger began to fall forward. He quickly switched the LED light on his helmet.

"Ward!" Jemma cried out.

He saw her suddenly fall forward, even as the entire cockpit tilted. He yanked himself free from the shoulder harness, lunging forward to catch her arm just as she slipped on the wet floor, dangling over the edge of the conn-pod, several hundred feet above the feet of the jaeger. Water began pouring into the jaeger, soaking them as it drained through to the bottom. Sometime in the fight, something had punctured the conn-pod.

His feet still securely locked in the conn-pod's structure, Ward began to pull - pulling against her weight and against gravity and against the weight of the jaeger, falling forward. With a hard tug, he yanked her back over the edge and towards himself, wrapping his arms tightly across her back. She reached up, locking him back into his shoulder harness.

"Why are we pitching like this?" she gasped, still trying to catch her breath from her fall.

"The kaiju," Ward replied shortly, his mind turning as quickly as he could. "We couldn't get the fangblades out of the kaiju before power shut down, and so as it sinks, it's taking us with it."

"There's a door," Jemma gasped. "Right above both our spots in the conn-pod. Boost me."

He was starting to help her up when the jaeger suddenly began to pitch in the other direction. There was a horrible grinding sound of metal on metal. Jemma, her drive suit wet, slipped from where her feet were on Ward's shoulders. He quickly pulled her down. "What's going on?" she asked, her brow furrowed, as they both looked upwards.

"No idea."

| P R |

Gripping tightly, May and Coulson pulled, leaning backwards, gasping slightly at the weight. Tango Tasmania had stepped behind its powerless partner so they were facing the same direction and then looped its still extant but damaged right arm around the torso of the Mark 2, pulling its back tight against the older jaeger's chest.

Then Tango bent its whole body backward, pulling the head and torso of the power-dead jaeger back up out of the water. It was no small feat for the Mark-1, with one arm missing and the other damaged, to pull up the weight of another jaeger and a kaiju as well.

The beast was dead but still attached to the jaeger: its mouth was still impaled on Diablo's left fangblade, and the right blade was still stuck in the chest, even if the fist had loosened its grip on the heart. Very carefully, using its elbow to pin Diablo against its chest and carefully planting its feet to bear the weight of both fighters, Tango reached up with its disabled fist and pushed the dead kaiju's head off of Diablo's left fangblade. The monster's head dropped, and the weight nearly all dropped onto the right fangblade, pushing the powerless right arm towards the water.

Very gently, then, Tango lowered the right arm of Diablo into the water. With a gentle brush, like a parent brushing dirt off a little child, the Mark-1 pushed the kaiju carcass off Diablo's right fangblade into the water.

Tango shifted, trying to keep itself and the other jaeger steady, and gently set Diablo upright.

| P R |

Skye stood in LOCCENT, mouth agape, a coffee stirrer sticking out of her mouth from between her teeth. Her mug of coffee was still in her hand, completely forgotten. Behind her, the technicians were staring at the jaeger feed from Tango, their mouths hanging open.

"I've never seen somebody do that before," she muttered.

| P R |

Inside Diablo, the sounds of loud splashes and metal grinding against each other suddenly stopped. Grant and Jemma looked up instinctively towards the top of the conn-pod. All they knew now was that they weren't dead - by kaiju or drowning or electrocution or crushing - and they were upright. In the dark, Ward's small LED light cast an eerily bluish-white light over the dark conn-pod.

Simmons gave a small, tearful laugh - of relief, of exhaustion, of everything. Ward slipped his arms around her, sharing in that laughter.

"Shall we try that door again?" he asked, grinning.

He carefully boosted his small co-pilot up on his shoulders again. This time Diablo did not move. She sat on his shoulders and reached up, turning the wheel. It popped open.

It was ironic, Ward thought, how easily that door opened for Jemma - this time.

Simmons pushed open the hatch, and they both looked up into the starry night sky.

| P R |

Coulson switched on Tango's beacon, flooding the area with light. He and May guided Tango forward again, carefully approaching Diablo again, this time slowly so as not to create so many waves and rumblings as to rock the powerless jaeger.

"There they are." Coulson pointed at the two pilots, who were crawling onto the right shoulder of the disabled jaeger. He could feel May's relief.

The marshal detached himself from the harness but left the neural link on. He climbed up and unlocked the door above him, then slid back down and relocked himself into the harness.

As Tango's head turned towards Diablo, the light hit the two pilots, who held up hands to block the blinding light.

Then, carefully, Tango lifted its disabled but still extant right hand. The jaeger reached across to the other one until its hand came to a stop in front of the shoulder, where Ward and Simmons were standing.

The two exchanged looks, and Grant slid down first, nestling on the crushed palm as securely as he could. He reached up a hand and helped his co-pilot down.

Jemma turned and impulsively kissed Diablo's shoulder with affection, her lips murmuring a silent promise. Then she turned and stepped forward into the palm of Tango's hand, standing next to her co-pilot.

"We're good!" he shouted towards the other conn-pod, throwing a thumbs up.

Ever so gently, like a mother carrying a newborn, Tango brought its hand back and across, up to its left shoulder.

| P R |

LOCCENT was silent. The technicians were staring at the monitors, mouths open.

Skye just stared. "Are you getting this?" she breathed to the technician next to her.

| P R |

Boosted by her partner, Simmons crawled up onto Tango's left shoulder, followed by Ward. They slid down into the conn-pod in the same order, Ward pausing to close the door, turning the round wheel until it locked. Coulson ordered them around to the front as he and May carefully lowered Tango's disabled right arm. Diablo's two pilots stood in front of him, very quiet and a little sheepish.

There was a long silence as Coulson just glared. And it started. "Don't get me wrong! I'm happy you're both alive!" he was yelling. "And I realize you were trying to save us, but what you did today was not your call!"

May tried not to look amused.

"Do you even KNOW how mad the Chileans are going to be?!" Coulson shouted.

"He's still intact, s - " Jemma began to whisper in protest.

"I DIDN'T GIVE YOU PERMISSION TO SPEAK!"

The scientist quickly clamped her mouth shut and looked at the floor.

May chuckled.

* * *

Ward looked around the cargo by, where the technicians and the LOCCENT team and the other pilots were still partying, dancing away. The impromptu celebration had started before they had even gotten home: the technician crews had greeted them with champagne as the two sets of pilots had exited the conn-pod, showering them with the sticky mess before they even got to the drivesuit room. Tango had been carefully returned to its spot, and Diablo's empty space was decorated with streamers. Music pumped through the building.

Coulson and May had excused themselves from the festivities quite early - May to report to Hong Kong about the attack, Coulson to talk to the irritated presidents of Peru and Ecuador and to break the news to the Chileans that they had, indeed, become the first South American country to deploy a jaeger - and now they needed more money to fix it back up. The marshal had also informed Diablo's pilots that, in two days, they would have to appear in public at a major press conference in Lima. His phone had been ringing off the hook for interview requests.

Jemma was happy but quiet at the festivities. While she smiled and accepted the hearty congratulations and cheers, she ducked out at midnight. He followed soon after.

He found her in her normal spot, sitting on the rooftop with her umbrella. The city below sparkled in the drizzling rain, its lights twinkling against the dark night sky. Life was still going. Many residents had not heeded the evacuation warnings. They had been fortunate this time.

Duffle saw him coming and, while not greeting him with wagging tail, vacated the spot next to Jemma.

Grant sat down next to her, and she held the umbrella over his head. He had not told her how he had seen her when he first came, when it was raining and she was sitting out here with that umbrella, but she had seen herself in his memories - in the drift.

Duffle scrambled over, laying its head down on her lap and plunking its rear on his. Ward rolled his eyes, even as Jemma laughed, warm and bright.

They sat in companionable silence for a while, with her leaning against him and him with his arm wrapped around her. "Penny for your thoughts," he said, finally.

"Ionized plasma would work much better than our current Tesla cells electric arcs," she said automatically.

It sounded like a very Fitz-like thing to say.

A smile instantly crossed his face, and a small laugh escaped as he relaxed. "Is that what you're going to tell Coulson in the post-op report?"

"Of course. It will take some research, but we should develop a plasma weapon, hopefully for the Mark-3s. Perhaps a cannon that runs on ionized plasma."

Hm. He thought about it, tilting his head to the side. "That's a good idea," he mused. "Plasma cannon."

They sat in silence a moment before she suddenly sat up, her eyes bright with excitement. "Ward - the same arm as the cannon - the elbow, on the other end," she said, her words coming even faster in her enthusiasm, "could have a rocket. That would give speed to punches. The cannon and the rocket could be powered by the same source!"

He looked down at her, smiling at her enthusiasm, his eyes flickering over her glowing face. The breeze ruffled her ponytail, pulling some strands out. He raised his hand to brush them from her face, then hesitated, wondering if she would welcome such an intimate gesture. He carefully tucked the strands behind her ear.

"Well?" she said impatiently. It made him smile even wider, that she was asking for his input.

"Brilliant idea, terrible name," he replied shortly. When she furrowed her brow and wrinkled her nose at him in confusion, he smiled. "Jemma," he said in a deadpan tone, "no self-respecting jaeger pilot wants to be shouting, 'Elbow Rocket!' in the conn-pod."

At that, her face smoothed out and she laughed, bright and amused. He grinned down at her, burying his nose in her hair. The warm rain drizzled down around them as they sat under the large umbrella. The dog whuffed a little, wiggling to get comfortable. Jemma scratched behind his ears. They sat in comfortable silence, just resting against each other.

She was looking out in a northward direction, towards the Ecuadorian coast, towards the dark water. "He's all alone," she said finally - wistfully.

He knew she was speaking about the jaeger. "The Chileans and the Ecuadorians have got ships and helicopters out there standing guard until we can figure out how to get him close enough home for the Sikorskys to bring him back."

"It's so silly, but I keep hoping he'll get hit by lightning and use the power to come home."

Ward smiled. "He's a jaeger, Jemma. Not Optimus Prime."

At that, she chuckled. They leaned against each other, watching the quiet of the early, early morning hours. "Thank you," she whispered. For everything.

"No, thank you," he responded, resting his head atop hers.

| P R |

Many miles away, sailors on the decks of the guard ships shouted in shock as they looked up and saw the jaeger seem to sigh, as if relaxing.


	5. Epilogue

**Monsters of Our Own**  
by Sammie

Disclaimer, summary, main author's notes in part 1.

**THANK YOU** to everybody who has read and reviewed. We're in the final part of the story; this is it. And, just a reminder: "Pacific Rim" set up the storyline a certain way, and so I had to stick with it. Sorry :-(

* * *

TEN YEARS LATER  
MARCH 2026  
PAN PACIFIC DEFENSE CORPS FACILITY

Coulson entered the new, pristine space, with its glass doors and marble foyer. May walked silently by his side as Skye slid in behind them, Duffle in her arms. Around them, visitors scurried about, albeit in a respectful silence.

The former marshal could see a tall blond and a smaller Asian woman speaking earnestly with a family, even as a photographer snapped photos from a distance. Coulson recognized the two instantly: Raleigh Becket - older, wiser, and more tempered - and Mako Mori, now a grown woman. The face of the PPDC Rangers - the new one, anyhow.

He turned and his gaze settled on a familiar face; the grizzled, redheaded pilot was talking to some reporters and clearly not at all enjoying it. The other man looked up and saw them. There was instant recognition on his face and he excused himself. He came to them, his right hand already outstretched. "Marshal Coulson," he greeted with a huge smile, shaking the other man's hand warmly, clasping their connected hands in his free left hand.

"I'm just Agent Coulson now," Phil replied with a small smile as he shook the man's hand, then reached out with his left arm, gripping the other man's shoulder in greeting. "And it's we who should call you Marshal."

Hercules Hansen rubbed his hand through his close-cropped ginger hair. "Eh." The Australian had never liked titles. "Ranger May," he greeted respectfully, shaking her hand. "Or, Agent May." The woman inclined her head in greeting.

"The facility is beautiful," Coulson replied, waving a hand towards the new building.

"Let me give you a tour."

| P R |

"Dr. Lightcap isn't here today," Hansen said as he led them up the employees-only backstairs. "but she and Sergio are running the lab. The aspects of the drift are too good to pass up and can provide other scientific advances. Drs. Geiszler and Gottlieb are aiding her and also running the kaiju research lab, adjacent to this one. I'll show you that later." The three could hear two men squabbling. "She complains occasionally about how much they fight," he replied with a small smile. "I believe she keeps thinking of Dr. Fitz and Dr. Simmons."

"They squabbled, too," May replied dryly, to grins from both men.

Hansen led them around the front, passing a tour being led by some of the former PPDC members. He brought the veteran pilots around to the front and nodded to the stark, brass letters across the double doors leading to the lab.

'FitzSimmons Ward'. The neurological lab's name was a play on Ward's surname. He would have appreciated the pun - and been humbled by the decision to include him in the whole thing.

"Lightcap wanted to do it," Hansen explained quietly as the three of them looked up at the lettering.

"I'm glad they included Ward," Coulson murmured.

"Lightcap's been with D'onofrio so long. She knows the power of the drift. She met Simmons and Ward after their fifth kaiju kill, told me later it wouldn't be the same to have left him out of this. Lightcap said Simmons was different - different from before the accident, certainly different from after the accident. She was a good different after meeting Ward. He made Simmons stronger, she said." His eyes drifted over the letters. "And she made Ward better," he finished.

He directed them over to a small room off to the side of the lab, the only part of the lab visitors could enter without a guide. On the left were PPDC lab photos of Fitz and Simmons, and a biography of Fitz. On the wall opposite the door was a biography of Simmons, and on the right wall one of Ward. Between the latter two were photos of the jaeger pilots - some by the PPDC, but many of them on the interview circuit, trying to drum up support for the PPDC. Late night shows, Charlie Rose, morning shows, articles in major newspapers and in all the major newsmagazines. There was even a _Rolling Stone_ cover and a Reddit AMA.

"They were perfect," Hansen replied as they looked at the room. "PPDC poster children. Simmons was polite and kind, and both were graceful and photogenic. Scott used to call them 'pretty'," he said, referring to his brother and now-disgraced ranger. "And they had an incredible backstory. They were like royalty in the Rim countries." He shook his head. "But every time I saw them - down-to-earth. No airs at all."

"They both hated the interview circuit, Ward especially," Coulson replied. "They did it because we asked, and because the PPDC needed public and monetary support."

He was quiet for a moment, looking at the display. His lips twisted into an amused smile. "We loved having them around," he said fond, his tone far away. "I hate talking to the media, and I could always divert attention and escape the minute one of them walked into the room." He shook his head, groaning a little. "Now I can't avoid it, even with Raleigh and Mako bearing the brunt of it all."

"The travails of being marshal," May intoned, her lips twitching in amusement.

The three were silent for a long time, and then the Australian turned to the pair. "I'm sorry I couldn't do more for them in Los Angeles," he said quietly. "I know - " he stopped. "I know what they meant to you. Especially Simmons."

Coulson straightened and looked at the other man, the now childless widower, who had lost everything in the war. Of all who had fought, few had given up more than Hercules Hansen. "You and Chuck did all you could. You killed Insurrector. Protected Los Angeles." He was quiet, his voice soft. "We all know war takes lives - especially of the young."

The other man turned away, his eyes moist.

Coulson's eyes swept the display, settling on one photo taken of Diablo Intercept's pilots during a photoshoot for a _Parade_ newspaper insert. He was dressed in jeans and a white shirt with a jacket and sitting on a large rock; she was dressed similarly, in jeans and a black shirt, and stood between his legs. She was laughing, her head tilted back, and he was grinning up at her. After a moment, Coulson finally spoke, almost to himself: "I'm just glad they were together when they went down. I don't believe Simmons could take losing another drift partner. And I don't believe Ward could take losing her. Most likely better that way."

Afterwards, Hansen led them around to the side of the building. Looking out, one could see the small garden in the back. There were two fountains - one for visual decoration, the other designed specifically for children to play in - a reminder of what the PPDC had fought for.

Jemma would have loved it: the chance to research, the chance to bring her children to come and play in the fountain - had she had any.

Right inside was the memorial wall, with brass plates. On the left of the double doors, in a six-foot tall panel that abutted the wall, were the names of the jaegers: name, Mark level, and beginning and end dates of service. Tango Tasmania was on there - including its date of destruction, which had precipitated May and Coulson's retirement from the PPDC and return to SHIELD.

Diablo Intercept was on there. March 2, 2016 - July 5, 2024.

On the right of the double doors, all the way down the rest of the wall, were rows and rows of stars, the stars going no higher than six feet off the floor. Blue metallic stars commemorated those who had died in fighting kaiju before the founding of the PPDC. The brass stars after - each had the name of somebody who had died in service with the PPDC. Jaeger pilot pairs who died together had a plaque with two stars overlapping each other, with the date of death printed in one line across both. It seemed fitting that way.

Coulson looked across the long wall. The first of the brass stars: _Capt. Adam Casey, USAF. January 30, 2015. Jaeger test pilot, prototype Brawler Yukon._

He found the one he was looking for. _Dr. Leopold Fitz. December 13, 2015._

Farther down, he found the names of many of his other pilots, those who had served under him in Hong Kong and in Lima. He stopped in front of double-star plaque.

_Ranger Grant Ward and Ranger Dr. Jemma Simmons Ward. July 5, 2024. Mark-2, Diablo Intercept._

"Eight kaiju kills. Highest number for any Mark-2," Herc said quietly. The three of them stood in silence before Hansen said, "I saw Ward in Hong Kong. Saw those failed compatibility tests - one after another. He wouldn't show it, but he was pretty depressed when he went to you.

"And Jemma - we all saw how she was after that fire. I've seen people after the neural connection is torn - Stacker. The Becket boy," he added, referring to the blond they'd seen earlier. "And given the depth of that connection, it was no wonder she was catatonic."

He took a deep breath. "What you did in Lima - I've never seen two people restored like that. Together in tandem they produced far more than if you'd taken the two of them and separately added their abilities. I'm glad they found each other."

When they got to the end, there were other names there. A plaque of three brass stars overlapping each other, the only plaque so connected. _Ranger Zhang Wei Tang, Ranger Hu Wei Tang, Ranger Jin Wei Tang. January 8, 2025. Mark-4, Crimson Typhoon._ Then, a double pair: _Ranger Aleksis Kaidonovsky and Ranger Sasha Kaidonovsky. January 8, 2025. Mark-1, Cherno Alpha._

Last were two single stars. The first was edged in black, commemorating the sole marshal to have died in combat: _Marshal Stacker Pentecost. January 12, 2025. Mark-1, Coyote Tango. Mark-5, Striker Eureka. Marshal of the PPDC._ Last was another, simple brass star. _Ranger Charles Hansen. January 12, 2025. Mark-5, Striker Eureka._

Coulson squeezed Hansen's shoulder.

**END**

"There are no heroes in a world where heroes can't die."  
- Travis Beacham


End file.
